The Father
by tore-my-yellow-dress
Summary: Months after Will Gardner leaves Chicago for good, he gets a call that will change his life forever. WIP.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- First and foremost, I want to respectfully say that if you have a problem with death of any kind, you should hit the back button. I posted this at first with my note at the end of the story, and due to the anons I received, I will say this: this story is under "angst" and "family" for a reason. "Tragedy" is not what this story is about. This story is about love, loss, and healing. Most importantly, healing. Will is not going to have any other love interests. Will and Alicia are still mainly what this story is about. As a writer, I am asking you to trust me. I am going to get you through, as a reader. I love ALL of the feedback I get, and I hate disappointing my readers. **

**This story means a lot to me, and it takes a lot in me to post it. Please be respectful of that. ****There's six more chapters waiting to be posted, so if you enjoy, once I hit a certain number of reviews I will post. Thank you, and buckle up. It's going to be a ride.**

The clatter and clang of medical instruments echoes against the piercing drone of the electrocardiography monitor. A middle aged surgeon has her mouth set in a hard line as she makes the stitches neat and crisp as she would under any other circumstances. Someone else is smoothing down the hospital gown over the newly purple and blue skin, blotched with a desperate attempt at revival.

At the far end of the room, a technician is puking her guts up.

"How did we call it?" the doctor wonders aloud, eyes wide and unseeing. He strips himself of his gloves. Working this job for twenty years, and he thinks he's steeled until he watches the life go from someone's eyes, watches and can't fathom how anyone can ever truly forgive themselves for the things they've done, for the lives they've had a hand in. The flame put out with a thumb.

There's red on the floor, and it glistens so prettily under the fluorescence.

"6:21."

The doctor thinks _6:21, 6:21, 6:21._

/

Will's phone buzzes in his pocket, and Marissa sighs, leaned halfway across the table and holding his eyes in one of her searing, scintillating stares. "Thought it was off," he apologizes, but pulls it out anyway. He doesn't recognize the number, hits ignore because he can.

If it's that important, they'll call his secretary, and _she _can call him.

"You were saying," Will puts out lightly, but it's a joke, and Marissa knows it is, too.

"We weren't _saying _anything," she teases. "We are playing footsy. Scandalous of us."

"Oh?"

"You know, considering we _are_ in one of the finest restaurants in this city," she flips her blond hair and pulls back, groaning under her breath when she hears his phone begin to buzz again. "You should get it," she encourages. And he likes that about her, like that she's selfless in all the right ways. "Might be important."

"You're more important right now," he tells her, but answers it anyway. "LG."

Someone better be dying, he thinks, and then chastises himself mentally because his mother_ is_ getting older, isn't she, and wouldn't be wise to-

"_Will Gardner?"_ the voice on the other end chimes, and it's like the person has bad connection, the way the voice breaks in two places.

Will's mouth parts, agape. "How did you get this number?"

The words are strangely hollow in his mouth. He hasn't thought about this in months, nearly a year, at least, has made himself cross out the breaks and dot the Is and never, ever stop to dwell on the little things, like the way she looked when he-

_"Where are you right now?" _

He looks down at the silver of his fork on the table, tries to keep his voice low. "New York. Why-

_"You have to get to Chicago right now."_

Will snorts loudly, and Marissa's eyebrows furrow, wincing at the way it disrupts the ambiance of the atmosphere in the room. His cheeks warm, but it's not in embarrassment.

"I am going hang up now. Do not call this n-

_"This isn't a goddamn _joke_!" _the shrill cry makes him pull the phone back from his ear.

This is also the moment his heart finds his throat.

"What's wrong?" he maintains steady, almost goes monotone. Marissa mouths something to him, but he shakes his head at her, half wanting to reassure her, half wanting to turn back the clock five, ten minutes. He wants to forget this call ever happened.

"_There's- I've been told there's a flight in the next hour or so, that there's still tickets- I- I'll pay if need be, but please, please just be on that flight- please don't-_

"What's wrong?" he stresses the ending, and there's sweat beading on the back of his neck, the phone slick in his hands. He's cold all over.

"_You'll be on the flight, Will?"_

"Yes," he tells her before he can think about it, that much decided, and he's not one to throw everything down and run, but this is different, it's always been different with this, but before he can say anything else-

The person hangs up.

/

The plane's engines thrum through his entire body.

In a feeble attempt to busy himself, he reads through the redundant instruction manuals thrice, contemplates getting out his laptop and working on briefs. He asks himself why he's even bothering, lets the tension crawl over him until he's literally pulling at his cuffs, scratching pink lines onto his forearms. Hives from the anxiety. He passes time in the struggle, in the worry, finds himself an hour in, one hour to go.

Will doesn't even realize he's fallen asleep until he's in dreamland, or maybe some memory palace, where his life is in boxes on a moving van, and she's at his door. Her curls tousled from October breeze, and her eyes green, so green in the dimmed light of the hallway.

"You're leaving," she had said aloud, more statement than question.

Her lips had been so red that night. Wind chafed, swollen from biting. He'd always loved how she'd do that, nervous or no. Sometimes she would bite her lips just to tease. He could imagine licking her lips and tasting wine, imagine kissing a cross onto her back and making a religion out of her and her stubborn pride. He had bled her mouth raw, backed her up against an empty blue wall and fucked her until she screamed his name. Hateful in their crashing, like junkies hitting rock bottom.

Then they had rolled across the wooden floor, something that used to be a living room but now just looked like an empty home. Echoes of making love, but really it just felt like a funeral, all moaning and crying out. They'd loved in an ugly, lovely way.

Came together again, again, and then _again_, because the last time didn't feel like it was good enough to be the end. Sometimes silent, like waiting for bombs to explode or car alarms to go off. Intense, until she'd finally buried her face in his shoulder and cried herself to sleep.

They'd been naked, desperate for every inch of skin, pressed sticky and taught, and it didn't feel like leaving when he took the time to wrap them both up to fend off the cold after she'd long since fell unconscious. It didn't feel like leaving to watch her chest rise and fall for five or six _hours_ before sunlight streamed through the curtainless windows. To memorize the swells of her breasts, the smell of her hair, the curve of her nose, although if he was honest with himself he knew her like the back of his hand. Biblically.

But no matter how he tries to spin truth into a lie, it didn't feel like leaving when he reassembled himself into something broken. Didn't feel like going when he slid his belt back through the loops of his slacks. Didn't feel like reckoning when he shut the door to her form, her holy form, all wrapped up in a spent white sheet.

No.

He hadn't said goodbye. He'd had a flight to catch. There was nothing left in Chicago he could take with him. Nothing that_ belonged_ to him.

But if Will Gardner is honest, it didn't feel like _moving on_ when he found himself in his new condo, overlooking a city that wouldn't just let him heal, still unbearably exposed to the lights and the people and the sounds. All he could remember was her voice, her moans, the way she said his name. He had tried to remember how to forget her.

Built up a new firm around him, walls came easy, expanding as much as he could. In middle school they'd taught him that every seven years the body is entirely made up of new cells. He lied awake at night and marveled at how one day there would be parts of his body she had never touched. It made him feel comforted, that he could expand and grow into new skin.

He is a thousand miles in the air when he remembers the dream of her lying in his arms, unaware he was telling her, "I love you."

Because in that moment, three in the morning, it didn't matter that she had taken his heart and run in the other direction. It didn't matter that she had been doing this for the past twenty years. It didn't matter that she had betrayed him like a fist to the jugular. It only mattered that she was his, for that second or two. Like she had been his in the shoulder between March and November three years prior. In that moment the fairytale was real. It was always real.

For him.

In that moment, it didn't matter, because he could look at her and pretend she felt the same.

Will wakes. Eyes bleary.

The pilot is rambling over the intercom, saying it's a warm late July evening. The clock has turned back an hour, but Will wants to turn it back years. He wants to go back to the moment he first laid eyes on her and he wants to forget the way she ever spoke his name. He blinks hard to wake himself from the dream.

He has cotton mouth, a jet lagged heart.

She's waiting for him there, at the pick up and drop off. Circular, black frames shield her eyes-even though it's nearly ten at night. All he'd brought is a carry on, and it's heavy on his weighted shoulders. A thousand pounds of doubt.

"Veronica," he acknowledges. "What's this about?"

"Get in the car, please," she says, and her voice grinds. The woman has been crying.

His nostrils flare, but he gets in, he doesn't know why, but he does. A puppy on a leash, dragged along. The sedan glides through the streets, and he'd forgotten how quiet Chicago is at night.

He knows where they're going the moment they turn down a certain street.

"Is Alicia hurt?" he asks her, breathing jagged and sharp. "Veronica? Answer me."

"You just. You just have to see, alright? Just trust me," Veronica pleads with him in a way he's never heard her before, and even though he doesn't know the woman all that well, in that moment she seems so much like Alicia, how she's desperate and vulnerable and shielded like those stupid sunglasses all at the same time. "_Please_ trust me."

He does, despite the gnawing in his chest.

"This is insane," he tells her, when they pull up to the hospital.

Veronica doesn't miss a beat.

"Everything about the past twenty four hours is the definition of insane."

She finishes the sentence with something that sounds suspiciously like a sob, but Will can't tell. He can never tell, with people like her. She stops after she unbuckles her seatbelt though, and Will definitely knows the tell tale quiver in her bottom lip, like she's struggling not to fall apart.

"You've just gotta _see_," she repeats to him, before she opens her door.

/

Veronica takes them straight up to the eighth floor, and she knows where she's going. Pinks and blues splash into his view, some kind of disarray of squiggly prints and cute sayings. "Veronica? What the-"

She grabs his hand tight, and it hurts, makes him want to jerk away, but she's got him caught. Veronica physically _drags _him through one hallway, down another. Then comes to an abrupt halt. Won't let go of his hand, still. Will gaze searches, confused, desperate.

The windows are huge, like he's only seen in movies, in televisions shows.

Little cubicles, plastic, blue, blue, pink, blue, pink. Small, squirming bundles.

"Alicia had a baby," he pieces together, blankly, and Veronica finally, finally lets go.

"The one on the- wait, no, no, no- it's the one- _yes, _there," Veronica juts out a finger sharply to the one on the end, the pink on the end, closest.

Will wouldn't have had to be told, anyway. The baby is kicking its limbs, a mass of energy for apparently only being a few hours old, and Will wouldn't have had to be told it was Alicia's child because look at it, with all its fuzz of dark hair and porcelain skin, with the curve of the nose-

"That's your daughter." Veronica begins to babble. "I don't believe in God, but may God have mercy on my soul, that's your daughter."

He forgets how to breathe.

Veronica begins to shake, and the fluorescence gives way to a lot, buried beneath those shades. "That's my granddaughter," Veronica states roughly, and a fat, smeared tear falls down her weathered cheek.

Owen Cavanaugh chooses that moment to stumble down the hallway, like a bull barreling through a starting cage. "Mom!" he growls, and Will can see he's already a storm with skin. "Mom, why in the _hell _did you bring him here? She didn't want him to-

"That doesn't _matter _anymore, Owen!" Veronica bursts out, in his face. "Who is going to take care of that little girl? I can't do it, I'm too old. You? And I'll be _damned _if she goes to the system. I've seen the news, the statistics-

Will finds it within himself, finds something in him to tear his eyes away from the newborn through the glass and look at Owen, look at Veronica, demand answers.

"Alicia doesn't want her?"

Owen bows up, all the five feet eight inches he is. "_Of course Alicia wanted her. _Why in the fu-

He stops, then, and Will manages to keep his cool, despite Owen practically spitting words in his face. Something in Owen's manner goes out, emptying to the hallway and the window and the two people standing there with him. His eyes redden and begin to water, all in the course of a few seconds, and then he turns to his mother.

"He doesn't know," Owen realizes quietly.

There's a gnawing, persistent, like claws scratching at a door, in Will's chest. "Know what?"

Veronica wipes her face, ignoring him. "I didn't want to."

"Where's Alicia?" He sounds small. He sounds far away to his own ears. He sounds like he's in a dream.

It all feels like a dream.

"Where's Alicia?" he asks again, pitch climbing. A part of him doesn't want to know, a part of him is _screaming. _Veronica begins to babble, again.

"She started to bleed, and they couldn't get it to stop. The walls of the uterus keep contracting after birth, you know, but it stops, it usually stops, and even when it doesn't they can _fix _it, they just have to clip something or _something, _but she's just so- so _old _to be having a baby, and I told her it was too risky, I told her-"

He doesn't mean to.

Later, he'll say he didn't mean to, but in that moment something grinds to a screeching halt within him, something, something, and before he knows it he's got his hands clamped down around Veronica's upper arms, practically shaking her. "Veronica, _please. Give me_ a straight answer."

The glasses fall off her face, clatter to the ground like metal instruments and wasted things. Veronica's eyes are rubbed raw with black mascara, and it hits him, it hits him and he lets go of her like she let go of his hand, like he's been burned.

"She's gone."

Will's knees buckle, and he almost, almost slides to the ground. But Owen holds him up, Owen helps him get over to a wall. Will's blood pressure drops too quickly, and then there's just a cold sweat on the back of his neck. Shock. He's in shock. Something lurches and jerks then, and Will pushes away from Owen, stumbles and trips, almost hits his head up against a wall.

By some thread of fate, he makes it to a trashcan before he starts to heave.

/

The thing about grief that nobody can ever explain right, is that it's like a sea in its swallowing. Like tides, falling across in short and large spurts, but no matter which way it's dealt one is still left with a mouth full of seawater and soar limbs, kicking, kicking. Trying to stay afloat, eyes burning with the salt. The water is dark, too dark to see to the bottom of the ocean, what lies beneath. Whether it's unknown or the unwanted. Cold and unforgiving, freezing enough to numb but not nearly enough to kill, yet. Yet, at least.

Sometime after, Will finds himself with his back against the drywall.

Veronica had gone off to find some coffee, and Owen had staggered over to sit down next to him.

"Alicia had arrangements made," Owen tells him, eyes watering. "I can't believe my sister is dead. She's too young. And she was just here, she was just making me help put together a crib, and I don't-

"Owen," Will whispers, cutting him off. "Owen, what kind of arrangements?"

"Well, I have the power of attorney. Since the divorce went through she had wanted- Alicia had wanted all of what she had to go to her kids. Zach and Grace have a trust, but I don't know about the baby."

"It's a girl," Will's eyes start welling up at the thought, at the knowledge that there's a tiny being living and breathing, not twenty feet and a wall or two away. "Did Alicia give her a name?"

Owen starts shaking his head back and forth, looks down at his hands. "There wasn't any time. The doctor…the doctor said Alicia got to hold her, though, before she…before…Alicia got to hold her, once. Told her, "I love you," and then…and then..."

Owen begins to cry in full, pulling his knees in to his chest. Will looks up at the ceiling and tries to focus.

Tries to breathe.

"She's such a good mom," Owen sobs, nodding. "She was such a good person. Such a loving person."

Will remembers Alicia peppering kisses across his face, remembers closing the door behind him nine months ago. Feels the nausea with every fiber of his being.

"Uncle Owen? What are you- _Will?"_

Grace starts down the hall, stops.

She looks older than Will has ever seen her, face white as a ghost. There's makeup smeared all over her face, but she's got a look in her eyes, a set to her mouth like she's two, three times the age she actually is. She looks hardened, and Will is struck by the fact Grace has just lost her mother.

She looks furious.

"What are you doing here?" she demands, crossing the space until she's only a few steps away. She leans up against the other side, arms wrapped around herself.

Will swallows, goes to stand. "Your grandmother told me," he explains simply.

He shoves his hands in his jean pockets.

Grace looks down at her feet. "Are you going to be her dad?"

"I," Will sighs, a migraine building beneath his temples, and everything hurts, everything. "I think so."

He doesn't know the first thing about babies. He doesn't know how to be a parent.

"You can't just _think," _Grace splutters, and Will's head snaps up, meets her eyes and the fire in them. She's all Alicia, trembling and emotional, convicted. "You're her _dad, _okay? Because she's not gonna have Mom. Mom's not here anymore, so you have to be her- her shelter."

Will nods, at a loss for words.

And then Grace Florrick, in all her seventeen year old might, begins to weep. Softly, so much quieter than her grandmother, than her uncle. "You're still going to let me see her, right? Promise you're still going to let me see my baby sister."

Will moves forward, and it is instinct that makes him take Grace in his arms, lets her sob quietly into the crook of his neck. "Of course," he reassures her brokenly. "I promise, I promise. I'm so sorry, Grace."

Will holds her tight, like he did her mother, what feels reminiscent of a lifetime ago.

"I'm so sorry."

/

There are ten thousand ways this could go wrong.

And Will knows he's the king of screw ups, knows that if coward had a face it would be his mug shot, knows the way his hands shake and shake isn't entirely healthy, knows that nothing could prepare him for this moment. Nothing.

He started loving the baby the moment he saw it through the pane, in all the recognition he could muster. He started loving it then, but it is the moment the nurse picks her up, makes him position his arms just so as that he won't harm her, and proceeds to place the warm, squirming body into his arms-

That's the moment he starts to feel solid ground again.

The waves are still rushing over his head, but it's as if in the bleakness there's a single, solid beam of light, beckoning. Will inhales, smells baby powder, feels the warm, tiny hand slap against his cheek. He'd never thought, in a million years, there'd ever be enough room in his heart for someone other than Alicia, at the head of the throne, overtaking it all. But now there's expansion, all high and wide, and it's breathtaking, the way her little eyelids flutter and her mouth forms a pink o.

She's beautiful, and a part of him, and so tragically fragile.

And although through the acceptance and news Will had kept a rigid hold on the dam of tears threatening to consume him, it is the moment he holds his daughter in his arms for the first time that something in him snaps. He looks down at her, this creation of love, and he gasps at the onslaught of tears. He gasps at the feeling.

Grace laughs through her own crying, something resembling happiness at the sight of it all.

Before long, he is smiling with her. Wet and blithe.

/

Veronica must have forewarned Zack of his presence, because instead of attacking him the boy just looks at him in a way that makes Will think maybe not boy, but a man. A cup of coffee is passed to him without a word, and Grace is busy stroking the baby's baby who is fast asleep in his arms. Will looks around the room, and a sad, pathetic part of him is almost waiting for Alicia to walk right in too. It would seem right. He adjusts his grip on the bundle, and exhales sharply.

"What's her name?" Will asks.

Grace smiles, although it holds none of the light it should, under normal circumstance. "Mom didn't want- wow."

"What?"

"It's weird to use past tense," she mumbles under her breath, continuing on with the thought after a pregnant pause. "Mom liked Rose, but now that she's going to have your last name I don't know if that would be the best idea."

"Yeah," Zack agrees, "Wouldn't want her to be entirely screwed come middle school."

"And I don't think Alicia would have approved of naming her daughter after her, so no Alice or Alison either."

"She doesn't look like an April," Will admits aloud, shifting her gently so that she can rest more comfortably. At the looks he's given, he concedes, "My grandmother, April. Good woman. Your mother met her back in law school."

"What about a themed name?" Owen suggests, finally joining in the conversation. "It's trendy enough to not make her too old fashioned."

"There's nothing wrong with old fashioned," Grace defends lightly. "But I know what you're saying. What would it be? Ruby? Or July- Julia? Juliette?"

"Julia," Will says, soft. He lets the syllables roll off his tongue. They feel at home, there. "I like it."

"What about a middle name?" Zack cracks his neck, checks the clock. It's nearly midnight. He can't believe his mother has been dead for almost six hours. A part of him really can't believe it. "Rose?"

Owen shakes his head. "No. I don't think Alicia would want to subject Julia to that at all."

"If not Alice or Alison," Veronica juts in quietly. "Then what about Cavanaugh? That would be honoring my daughter. It would be honoring her father, too. And she'd love that. She'd love it."

It's the first time Veronica has spoken since Will had grabbed her earlier, and for the first time Will realizes just how shaken she truly is, just how off the hinges. She's quiet, polar opposite of how she usually is, bated and unsure. Everyone seems to soak it in, tilt in the silence.

The baby chooses that moment to start whimpering, chubby cheeks stretching to expose gums.

"Julia Cavanaugh Gardner," Will acknowledges, and the Julia stops, eyes wide and questioning at the sound of her father's voice. "She seems to like it enough."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N- Thanks for all the lovely response I have gotten! Once I get double the reviews, I'll post the next part. Warning: tissues needed. Hope you enjoy!**

Chicago is in a record drought, but somehow, someway, it rains the day of the service.

Will's suit is pristine and dark grey. With any luck, he'd kept a few changes of clothes in his office in Chicago, and after he'd left for New York the articles had been tucked away in a box, in the back of a supply closet. Just in case. Forgotten. He'd left so suddenly, then. Rushed. Even now, the past few days passed in something akin to a storm. The media, however, was surprisingly tame.

There's Peter's statement to thank for that.

The morning of the twenty ninth had struck hard and quick, a new day, with its bright and blinding aftermath. Will had sat in a rocking chair, holding the sleeping baby, when the sun had filtered in through the blinds. The baby had whimpered, tossed, and Will had been reminded of the way he left, that morning. The last time he'd seen Alicia alive she had been sleeping. He wishes, even then, that he had stayed to wake her up. Had he been reminded that there are some dreams never to be woken from, he would have. He would have stayed.

But bargaining only gets him so far.

No, everything had rushed in a flurry of questions and answers and it almost felt like he didn't have time to grieve, didn't have time. The nurse told him as much, showing him how to change Julia, how to feed her. Will had positioned his arms and imagined Alicia sitting close, watching him learn.

Alicia would have laughed at him, smiled at his timidity.

Veronica insisted he go with Owen to find Alicia last will and testament, and so that's how he found himself, hours later. No sleep. Half a mind still with his newborn daughter. The other half walked through Alicia's apartment door and wanted to fall to his knees. The other half didn't so much as want to grieve, as just fall apart. Collapse.

Everything smelled like her.

And he'd forgotten, nine months past, he'd forgotten how potent her scent was, how it touched everything and consumed. Her scent was not a certain brand, but made up of the lotion she used, the air freshener plugged into the wall, her dryer sheets. Will walked into her apartment at ten in the morning, just as the morning rise was starting to permeate the entire apartment. Dust bunnies in the air from where Alicia had obviously not been able to clean, up off her feet the doctor had said, Grace had told him. There was a box for a car seat in the corner, and Will felt his stomach roll.

It was too much.

But there's only so much the human body can take, so Will cleared his throat and blinked away the tears, followed Owen, the trembling Owen, through the apartment and into the exponentially more painful bedroom. Her sheets were still rumpled from where she'd slept, the outline of her body a fossil remnant.

"It's in here, I think," Owen had murmured, thumbing open a drawer. "A hard copy, at least. Who else would have-

"David Lee," Will remembered, eyes widening. He'd clenched his jaw at the thought of making it real, of knowing that in just a few scant hours the world would recognize it and somehow it would make it more real. He wondered how Lee with his malice would react to knowing such a beautiful, whole woman was dead. Then he wondered-

"Did Alicia work?"

He could hardly imagine Diane would keep the pregnancy from him. Then again, he could hardly imagine even a word artist like Diane Lockhart could casually slip into a conversation, _"The woman who may or may not be the love of your life is currently carrying a child that may or may not be your own. Should we be concerned?"_

"No," Owen answered, and Will had actually stopped what he was doing.

"Did _anyone_ know she was pregnant?"

He could hardly imagine she kept it a complete secret. It wasn't the fifties.

"Kind of. I mean." Flipping his hands through his fringed hair, Owen struggled to formulate a proper response, to put his words together right. He hasn't had any sleep either. "She didn't tell anyone who didn't need to know, okay? Peter knows, and that campaign manager knows, and Alicia's partner knows, but…I don't think anybody else does. Just family. Alicia didn't want questions. She did work at home, on her computer. She didn't want the baby to have that label, you know? She was _always _private. Even when we were little. Even when-

Owen grew quiet, and looked down at the file he had his hand on. "I've got it."

It shouldn't have been a punch in the gut to read over the fine, scrawling script, but it was.

Will had always loved Alicia's hand writing.

It's the little things that ended up hurting the most.

/

In the end, the instructions were explicit. There would be no burial. Will recalled her twenty years ago, hovered over a law book, speaking aloud her own thoughts, the way they dipped and swayed so. Alicia was unfiltered as much as she could be, back then, and Alicia had let it slip one evening that she was afraid of being buried alive, couldn't imagine even after death, even after whatever happened after that, wanting to be six feet under and rotting. Morbid, he had thought.

Alicia had just raised one perfect eyebrow at him.

The memory stings.

Will doesn't know how he got there, but the afternoon of the twenty ninth Will found himself in the offices of Lockhart Gardner, everyone quiet and gauging his every move when he walked through the door. It must have already been released to the press by then. He must have looked like a ghost, with his stubble and bloodshot eyes. It felt like the last twelve hours was written across his forehead.

Diane had pulled him in for a hug, strangely maternal in some shade, the moment they were tucked within the confines of her office.

"What happened?" she whispered in his ear. "It's on the news. Do you come to tell her goodbye? Was she _sick?" _

Will had let go of her, let his hands fall to his side. He had sunk down into the chair because his legs wouldn't support him anymore. "No," the word had been pain, pure and unadulterated.

He never said goodbye.

Will had closed his eyes, willing himself not to break down right then and there. Diane understood, by some fray. She understood him. "Alicia died in childbirth," he forced the words out.

She took a long, drawn moment to process that.

"What?" she choked. She took her glasses off and laid them down on the desk, pinched the bridge of her nose. "They won't say anything on the news. Is it- _childbirth?"_

"Hemorrhaged after she-" Will broke off tersely, something in him bubbling and grinding at the fact he was even having to explain, even having to- "-Diane, she's _dead." _

"Did the baby survive? Getting a divorce was gutsy, considering she was pregnant with her Pet-

Diane stopped talking.

Diane went pale.

Without even her knowing it, one shaky hand went to cover her mouth. "Will, it's your child?"

All Will could do was incline his head.

Diane had already started shaking her head back and forth, mind going a mile a minute to dart which way, in which direction, looking for all possible outcomes and scenarios. "You didn't know? You couldn't have known, you would have come back if-

"I didn't know _anything," _Will interjected sharply, making Diane flinch. She had closed her mouth, looked down at her hands in her lap. She talked with her eyes down.

"What will you need? A few months, at least the very least, and we could arrange for Humphries to take over your cases in New York. Or. Or, if it's what you'd prefer, we could set David Lee up to talk with adoption age-

"I'm keeping Julia."

Diane met his gaze slowly, steadily. "Okay, we can figure that out. Beautiful name, by the way."

She cracked a watery smile. "Congratulations, Will."

He laughed weakly, sounded like he'd been running ten miles. "I'm a dad, Diane. You know how weird that is?"

With a hint more of her usual airs, Diane tilted her head to the side. "You'll warm up to it. Before long I'm sure you'll be writing briefs and fixing booboos all at the same time."

Something in him turned sharply on its heel, made him swallow hard. His palms had been sweaty.

He'd felt like he could sleep for years.

"Diane?" he said, though his mouth barely moved.

"Yes."

"I don't know what I'm doing. She's not going to have a mother. She's not going to have Al-

He couldn't say it, and that day, Diane had understood.

"You're right," she murmured, thinking back on the woman and struggling to maintain her emotional control. "She won't. But she's going to have one of the best father's in the entire world. And I think that's just going to have to be enough, Will. It's going to work out. It will."

/

When he'd gotten back to the hospital, the baby had been crying in Peter Florrick's arms.

Will Gardner had promptly struggled not to lose his shit.

"Give her to me," he'd demanded severely, low enough so as to not add to the commotion. Peter's eyes were hazed over in something like shock as he did so. Will thought after Veronica, after Owen, but then looked down at the papers and pen strewn about across the desk area of the hospital room and realized it must have been spur of the moment.

Peter had passed off Julia to Will awkwardly, his hulking form staggering over Julia and her elfin fingers. "Watch the head," Will growled.

And for some reason, Peter didn't have anything to say back.

Just took it, quiet in his might.

"Have you seen the body?" Peter asked instead, something numb in his tone.

Will had frozen. Julia had whimpered.

Will had shaken his head, bouncing where he stood and finding something within him warmed and relieved when the baby began to soothe, when her discomfort was lulled to an eased sleep. Peter took a few steps back, and had leaned up against a far wall.

Will couldn't imagine it, at the time. He didn't want to. The thought made him physically ill to imagine seeing _that, _seeing-

He couldn't. He couldn't do it.

But apparently, Peter had. And looking over at the man, still dumbed and shocked from seeing a woman once so full of life, hard and cold on a metal slab- Will looked at Peter and knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that if he saw Alicia now he wouldn't be able to hold it together. The baby in his arms was the contradiction. The baby in his arms was reason.

"Grace wants to stay with a friend," Peter told Will, crossing his arms. He'd been sorely attempting to pull himself back in, to make himself more a man. "Just until school ends. It's her senior year, you know. Zack wants to return to school by the end of the week, says it's what his mom would have wanted."

"The trusts will be there for them," Will relayed, nodding. "I checked with David Lee, the lawyer she'd chosen to go with for family matters, the one who helped file the divorce, and I won't contest the will. The will is good."

Peter scratched his brow. "Veronica says the service will be in a few days. The apartment can be cleared, and what's left will go to storage until Grace or Zack decide to go through and pick what they want. Sell the rest, I guess. I'll be making a speech later this evening. Ask for privacy."

They were speaking in legal matters, all business.

They were deliberately not saying her name.

"Then that's that," Peter cleared his throat. He moved toward the door, but stopped suddenly.

Peter looked back. "For what it's worth, Gardner, you're a brave man."

There wasn't any menace in Peter's voice, no underlying snark. Just brutal honesty, laced with something resembling loss, something resembling nostalgia. Julia nuzzled Will's forearm, sniffling in her sleep.

"Oh?" Will murmured.

Peter looked at Julia, fast asleep.

"I don't know if I would have had the courage to do it without her."

And then he was gone.

/

Zack gives the eulogy.

It's powerful for how short it is. Jerking, yet to the point a way that makes Will know Zack's got his mother's way of talking. Zack only cries near the end.

A few seats away, Eli is wetting a handkerchief. Kalinda, near the back, is crying silently, thick tears that stream down her cheeks. Cary has a hand on Kalinda's thigh, his head bowed.

Peter holds Grace while she sobs, Owen rubbing her shoulder next to her. Veronica had stayed with the baby, said she didn't want to say goodbye to her daughter in such a final way. He doesn't know what he's going to do once everybody is gone, and he's alone in his apartment, in New York, in Chicago, wherever he ends up. He doesn't want to think about it, but he's desperate to distract himself.

There are so many people he knows the faces of but cannot recall the name. Clients, associates at Alicia's firm. Partners from his firm. As it is, Diane is next to him, her hand clutching his arm.

He doesn't know what he's doing, with his quaking limbs and his dry eyes.

He's not falling apart yet. He's not.

He's just there, shell shocked, feels like everything is going slow and everything is passing in a blur, blowing out candles and lighting dynamite. Moving.

A part of him hopes this is a dream, when he exits the meeting hall and big, fat drops of rainwater darken his suit. William Paul Gardner stands in the rain, lets it soak him in.

He imagines this is Alicia, weeping too.

/

Will doesn't go from the meeting hall to the hospital.

He wants to see his daughter, he does, but something makes him stop, makes him hail a cab and go straight to the one place in the world nine months ago, he never wanted to return to again.

The door cracks open, and the summer storm howls outside. The lights are out.

The apartment is empty, and Will inhales deeply.

He's barely slept in days.

They wouldn't blame him, would they, would probably think he's off getting drunk in some bar, like he's supposed to be. He strips off his tie and his suffocating suit jacket, gets down to his boxers right there in the middle of the living room. Starts in the direction of the bedroom.

This is pathetic. This is the most pathetic thing he's ever done, but he just doesn't care, anymore.

He doesn't even have the energy within him to fall apart, he realizes. It's there, hovering on the edge of his throat, but it's not that he's pulling himself back, not that he's got responsibilities or scruples, nothing like that. He's just too tired. Too much. It's too much, too much, too much.

He stops, by the bed.

Cannot find it within himself to ruin her outline.

Moves to the other side, the made side. The side that would have been _his _in another lifetime. Can remember three years ago, can remember kissing her in this bed just that once, when the kids had been with Peter for the weekend, can still hear her laughter echoing in the darkness, some bullet in a barrel.

He crawls underneath the sheets, and wilts at their softness.

He feels so close to Alicia it _hurts. _

He shouldn't. He shouldn't and he knows it, but he's just so tired. He's tired, so later he'll blame it on exhaustion, the way:

Will curls over to his side, staring across the empty space next to him. Imagines her sleeping there.

That nose. Those curls. The rise and fall of her chest.

"Alicia," Will says.

He swears he can feel the ghost of her hand across his cheek, stroking, soothing, as he falls asleep.

"_Will."_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I was literally crying with some of the sweet, sweet comments I got from the last chapter! Thank you all so much for reviewing, and as usual, the same review policy still applies. This one's for Jess! And there's some sugar up ahead, no worries! Hope you enjoy! :)**

* * *

A rap falls across the wood.

"Trick or treat!" comes a crawling voice.

Will Gardner winces, holds his breath and _bounds _through his apartment to open the door as efficiently as he can before there comes another knock. He moves to press his finger against his lips in a widely known hand signal at the exact moment an ear shattering cry splits the air.

"Jesus," he curses, rubbing a hand over his face, chest and neck aching. "Just got her to sleep."

"Sorry," Aubrey frowns, guilt weighing her brow.

He pivots to rush back through the entryway and into the darkened hallway. He's learned Julia sleeps better if there's little light, little noise. He doesn't quite know where she got being a light sleeper from. As it is, when she sleeps, he has quickly reverted to falling into dreamless, dark bouts of unconsciousness. They're rarely satisfying, rarely fueling. The pediatrician says she might have colic, but doubts it. The book will read said that children with a lack of attachment can exhibit signs of restlessness. Insomnia for babies, almost. Will picks her up out of her crib and cradles her.

She falls quiet immediately.

That's the thing about Julia:

She likes to be held.

Aubrey pauses in the threshold of the bedroom, flipping her sandy hair behind her shoulder. "Three months and you still haven't painted in here? I mean, the furniture is fantastic taste, but _white walls? _Really, Willy? It's not a mental institution."

Her eyes soften as she looks over the infant, now perfectly awake and staring. "Man, she's gotten big."

"Yeah," he acknowledges, maybe a little more sharp than need be. "Been a little busy, Aubs."

His sister swallows, finally takes in his haggard appearance and the deep, set bags beneath his eyes. Will looks like he's lost weight, too. "I know," she murmurs. "Sorry. Don't mean to nag. You sure you don't want my help? I'm only a state away. And you know Mom would be more than happy to-

"No," he rolls his eyes. "No way in hell. It's just- she's been a little fussy today. Nothing too bad. I'm just exhausted. Not overwhelmed."

He raises his eyes up from his daughter's fringe of dark hair and adjusts her so that she can get a better look. "Want to hold her?"

The woman's face splits into a grin. "Hell yes!"

Will inhales sharply, just as Julia cringes and mewls. "Not so loud, Aubrey. She doesn't like that."

It's strange, how quickly he repositioned parts of himself to accommodate for taking care of Julia. He's always been a hard worker, always been cut throat and perfectionist, determined to get the best possible outcome out of every situation. But it's different, learning another person's wants, needs. It took him two weeks to learn the difference between a cry for hunger and a demand for attention. He studied like he would in law school, books and books of material on what to watch for, what to expect. Sometimes he went against all the advice, didn't sleep when she slept, just because he wanted to be more prepared. Sometimes, he would have to take five, maybe ten minutes to collect himself when the particular thought struck him, that _Alicia would know all these things_.

He's really, really trying not to think of her much these days.

At first it was self-preservation, because there was only so many parts of him he could stretch so thin before he started to break in crevices, started to unravel. He'd taken the furniture she had bought from the apartment, put it all in a U-Haul and bit his lip bloody when he unpacked it, imagining her buying each item, picking it out like she would an article of clothing. She'd chosen these items for their daughter.

Will wishes with all he has he could have helped her pick out the rocking chair, the changing table.

The patterns are a muted yellow with dusty pink, winding scrolls. The wood is cherry.

It's as elegant as you can get, for baby furniture.

He wonders how other people are getting by.

He wonders how Grace is adjusting to life without having a mother, if she has random moments when she desperately wants to ask her mother something, goes so far as holding the phone in her hand to call her, before realizing there won't be anybody on the other end of the line.

He contacts them as often as he can. Zack and Grace, Owen and Veronica. But they need their space. Everybody needs their time. He loathes that it feels more running a bandage around it than healing, though. Hates that every time he smiles it's only half there, like behind his teeth are metal clamps wiring his mouth shut, and he hates the feeling. He's a perfectionist. He's competitive. He is in control.

And he's not any of those things, anymore.

The book says when you become a parent, you lose your identity, for a little bit.

Will feels like someone else is wearing his face.

But then, sometimes, sometimes it gets easier. There are moments when it almost feels like the vice holding his head underwater lets up, and he inhales air like a dying man. Fresh and new.

The first time Julia smiled at him, he laughed. It came from his belly in spurts, made him holding his stomach and chortle so loudly he thought he'd wake the neighbors.

And then he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks before he could help himself. Julia's meaty fists had reached up to bop him in the face, garnering attention and drawing him out of his misery. Of remembering. So,he'd scooped her into his arms, made this obscene noise imitating a horse or a donkey, desperate- and there it was again.

All Alicia.

It hurt, it did. It hurt in some awful, pinching way. He felt like he'd have bruises in the morning, black and blue things that were tender to touch. But it felt good, too. It was the happiest he'd been in the three and a half weeks since he'd gotten the call, the happiest he'd felt in a long, long time.

Bittersweet, his mother had told him. She and his sisters had come to stay, that first week after he'd gotten back to New York. To help him get settled. Everything felt bittersweet, nowadays.

Aubrey bounces the baby softly, makes faces at the way she gurgles and coos. "She's precious. I think I might want one."

Good naturedly, Will quips back, "Just wait until you have to get up for feedings every three hours."

/

He starts working again a week later.

All from home, and he conferences with Diane to hold off on going back in until at least after the holidays. It's semi-easy, writing emails while Julia plays patty cake in his lap and thinking through strategy while giving her a bath. He talks with her about it, sometimes. He knows she's not getting a word of what he's saying, but she likes it, loves it when she's spoken to in a voice that's not distorted with baby talk. She gets this awed look on her face, alert in the eyes. She knows the difference between real and fake, and she's barely four months old.

A part of Will wonders if he needs to get out of the house more.

Grace extends an invitation to the Governor's mansion for Thanksgiving, but Will can't fathom going back to Chicago this soon, can't stand the thought of being around Jackie Florrick. She had the nerve to come over to the apartment, when they were clearing it out, getting ready to sell. She'd had the nerve to give him the wrong kind of look. A judging look.

Will hates that woman forevermore.

He politely declines, on grounds that Julia won't be able to take the flight, but by some shred of decency he does manage to make down the coast to see his mother and sisters in Baltimore. The dinner isn't huge, and his niece spends half the time interacting in a somewhat adorable way with Julia, so that's something. He's not into fashion for obvious reasons, but knows that if he's actually going to do an honest job at raising a little girl he has to apply himself to something more than shirts and jeans for the baby, so he manages to find a flowery dress that makes the green in Julia's eyes pop- and if he sounds like a gay man (and he does, in his head), then slap him and call him Owen Cavanaugh.

The company is good. They play board games like they always do, and Julia likes being passed around in everyone's arms, loves Aubrey throwing her in the air, loves tasting her grandmother's cranberries. He feels lighter than he has in a long, long time.

It's all good fun until he imagines Alicia helping his mother with the turkey.

He escapes to the bathroom for five, maybe ten minutes.

Comes back with swollen eyes and a tight smile.

/

A week into December, he's picking up groceries when he hears the cashier talking about basketball.

And that's the moment, hand hovered over a jar of olives, Julia resting in her car seat in the shopping cart, that he realizes he hasn't even _thought _about sports in months. Sure, he'd spent a little extra time ordering Julia some child sized jerseys, and fantasized over taking her to basketball and baseball games as soon as she was physically able, but the last time he thought about scoring, about how local teams were faring-

It was before.

He pulls out his phone to find the app, and Julia kicks her legs against the fabric of the seat.

Will looks down at her, mouth twitching up at the corners. He leans in to press a kiss on her nose, make her squirm.

Will moves onto the next isle to find cereal.

/

On the twentieth Will realizes he still hasn't put a tree up.

It's a silly thought, because Julia won't understand it in the slightest, but it irks him enough that he hops up off the couch and strides through the living space to the miscellaneous closet where he knows there's a small one, maybe a three footer, back from the things they'd gotten from the apartment.

Grace had wanted him to have it. Said the family had the same mini tree for years, that it wouldn't be the same to put it up without her mother in the corner, drinking a glass of red wine, laughing at her and Zack's uneven lights.

Alicia had never been one to go on about Christmas, anyway.

He rummages through a box such for a good two seconds until he finds it,

And then his hand falls on something else, something black and white and hard covered.

He pulls it out like he's holding a time bomb, something clenched around his windpipe.

He hadn't realized.

Will finds it hard to swallow.

He hadn't known she'd done this.

Tree long forgotten, Will moves back into the living room carefully. He looks over at Julia, sleeping soundly, nestled in one of her favorite blankets that had been Alicia's. Will sinks down onto the couch, just feet away from the five month old, and opens the book.

The first thing he sees is a tattered, grainy ultrasound picture.

Scribed formatting on the book reads something along the lines of 'Mother's First Thought', but he barely notices that, eyes darting past it as quick as they land, and he closes his eyes for a long moment before he pulls himself together enough to start reading the scrolling, elegant script.

_I didn't even realize I was pregnant until I was three months along, because I had almost no symptoms up until that point. I'd been sick for a few days but had passed it off as a stomach bug until I realized what it really was. My first reaction was fear, because I was so scared you might not be okay, and I didn't know how it was all going to work out. But then I went to the doctor and saw you up on the monitor, and I knew it was all going to work out perfectly, no matter what. My 'official' first thought was that I loved you very much. _

There was more to be read, but Julia chose that moment to inform her father of her alertness, rolling over and struggling to sit up. Will helps her, tries to blink away the tears threatening to spill. He'd cried more than any noble man could ever dream the past months. He wonders if one day the moisture would just run out. Julia squeals, places both of her arms against her father's chest, balancing precariously until he tickles her stomach and she bends inward, like jelly.

She laughs like Alicia, too.

She looks so much like Alicia it hurts.

/

On Christmas morning, he wakes up with a mission.

The picture is vague and he doesn't do much besides shave and put Julia in that flowered dress thing, but he poses it in front of the makeshift tree and positions it so that Julia giggles when the shot is snapped. Titles it _family selfie _and sends it out in a mass text. The responses he gets tell him he's at least doing something right.

Julia has cranberries as a treat, seems to be in a relatively good mood for most of the day. Will, on a whim, wraps a box with wrapping paper so that she can tear it open herself. Nothing in the box, but that doesn't matter to her. The entertainment she gets out of it is enough to make the day perfect.

Well, almost perfect. What makes the day _perfect _is when about six at night, warm and cozy with Christmas carols on the radio, he dances and bounces with her around the small living area, careful not to trip on any of her toys. She throws her head back, hysterical and shrieking, content to be held in her father's arms.

It's perfect, right up until the moment Will imagines Alicia sitting on the couch, watching them with a proud smile. Watching him make a total fool out of himself, all in the name of their daughter.

He can imagine wrapping his arms around her and swaying to the slow rendition of White Christmas, kissing her neck and telling her how much he loves her, how much he wants to stay like this, forever, forever. Another lifetime. Another life.

Instead of disappearing to take his five, maybe ten minutes, Will just lowers the volume of the music and plops down right there in the middle of the floor. He grows quiet and closes his eyes. Julia's little hand slaps against his cheek, but she's calmed too. Different than when he's reading her legal briefs. Just this all-consuming, knowing look. Like she's been there, done that, a thousand times over.

Will thinks she might get that from Alicia, too.

"Merry Christmas, baby girl," Will murmurs, kissing his daughter's forehead.

Julia pinches her father's cheek in her chubby fingers, tethering him to reality.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I just want to say that I am SO SORRY this chapter wasn't posted sooner. I was very busy for a few days with schoolwork, and then ff was being finicky and wouldn't let me post, just kept saying "error". Long story short, this kind of length between updates will hopefully never happen again, if I can help it. I will not be asking for a certain number of reviews due to people complaining, but do know that reviews are my spirit food, and it really encourages me to write faster when I get more. Just saying. ****Thank you to all the reviewers on my last chapter, and any new readers of this story! *gives out cookies and hugs***

**This is for Gabi. **

* * *

.

.

.

Frost does its killings. The leaves are dead and everything is barren, biting and gone, and some people can stand the cold, but it takes a searching soul to find beauty in the loss. January passes like the blood behind a bruise, pulsing in lurches; Julia sitting up by herself, and getting the call that Grace has had her first panic attack. February is bitter, no sweets. Chocolate stains on Julia's onesie don't mask the lynching he gets every time he turns on the television, everything grand romantic gestures and diamond advertisements.

The eve of Valentine's Day he dreams of Alicia in white, staring at him from across a rose adorned arch. He can feel the warmth of the blood rushing through her capillaries, dainty fingers entwined with his. Beautiful. Alive. He opens his mouth to say "I do" when he wakes to Julia screeching at the top of her lungs.

The truth is, that is not the first time Will had ever dreamed of giving that woman his last name.

Before, he didn't have to be asleep to think such things within reach.

Time has a nasty habit of taking the things he loves and making them as distant as stars, not all there, just bits and pieces projected too late to save. There are parts of him that are still unsure if what they had ever held any ground, despite the mass of unimaginably perfect cells that he rocks to sleep some nights.

There are still too many blanks and gaps, places where Alicia never said the real words but the echo of them still falls over him when he's least expecting it. She kept their baby. She _wanted_ their baby. Yet the truth still rings out like a vibrating phone triggering a bomb blast that Alicia didn't tell him. She didn't tell him anything.

Shakes him to the core that she was planning on raising their little girl alone.

It also makes something within him lurch, burn bright with the fierceness of his love for her, with her stubborn pride, with her swell of independence. Alicia is the strongest person he's ever known, and even though it kills him he would have never known the sound of Julia's laughter, a part of Will would give it all up if Alicia could still be in the same world he lives in, breathing the same air. Alicia should be rocking Julia to sleep. If he wasn't in the picture, if he wasn't even aware, it's a sacrifice he'd be willing to make.

Will is trying to learn how to accept the fact he will never be given the chance.

He is trying to learn how to fall out of love with a ghost.

But times do change. Slowly, creeping up on cat's feet to tap him on the shoulder when he's all but given himself to the routine and drone. It passes and before he knows it bath times and giggles and changings give way to developments, the natural wane of the course. There is holiness in the resurrection of hope. How hesitantly, green begins to bud. New leaves grace the trees.

Central Park's reconcile is wildflowers gathering in faint bunches, and just as they start to bloom, Will goes back to work.

/

It smells like thrift store and chicken noodle soup. The warm waft of air that hits him as the door opens makes his nose wrinkle. Julia turns her head into his neck, burying her cold, button nose in the crook of his periwinkle dress shirt and tie. Faintly, he can hear the morning news in the background. "Tiffany Hart?" he asks, eyes narrowing.

"Mr. Gardner," the deep, Southern twang acknowledges simply. "You can call me Mimi."

Will swallows thickly, holding Julia's body only the slightest bit tighter. "May I…"

The sharp snort comes a second too soon, and the door is quickly pushed open further.

"Come on in, hon. This ain't no twenty four hour drop off. I expect to know you," Mimi murmurs gruffly, turning on her heel and buffing her white bob. Upon further inspection, the inside of the apartment isn't as homely as it smells. There's pictures of family on the walls, and the sofa is dated and pastel, but everything appears clean and well cared for. Still clutching Julia like a lifeline, Will stops a few feet in.

"I'm going to be late," he realizes suddenly, seeing the cat clock on the wall.

"Then late you'll be," Mimi tells him, and if he perks his ears he knows there's just a hair of mock there, and something like rebuke. Will thinks she reminds him a lot of how his grandmother was, makes a part of him want to blush like a child at her reprimand. Will shakes his head at the irrational thought, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"I was referred to you by Tim Humphries," Will clears his throat, handling it like business. That's the only thing he can think to do, in his discomfort. He needs someone to help watch Julia during the days when he works, doesn't know the protocol for vetting potential babysitters, doesn't know the code for how to spend more than three hours away from his daughter. The truth is, he has absolutely no idea what he's doing.

"Timothy is an exceptional man," Mimi notes, her eyes crinkling. "Those were the first babies I watched officially, his babies. He and his wife were having problems and, well, I watched them from nine months until they were school age. I take jobs like this from time to time, you see," she motions to a box of toys in the corner. "I did have one thing I wanted to go over with you before you left the little one here, though."

Julia is almost half asleep against him, drool forming at the corners of her puckered mouth. Her curls smell like Johnson's shampoo, and Will's ignoring his instincts to forget it all, go back home and tuck her into her crib. It's the silliest thing he's ever struggled with, and he can step outside his own head and acknowledge that. Still, it's strange to know this is how mothers feel, how other new parents battle the aspect of going back to work. He can understand why Alicia gave the law up in favor of being at home.

But reality is reality, and he's got to resume life sometime soon.

"Your salary," Will guesses, inhaling sharply. "Like I said on the phone the other day, I can pay you on the-

"No," Mimi tells him severely, in such a way that he wants to scramble backward, over his words, but she continues. "That's the _last_ thing on my list, son. I just need to tell you that I have one rule, and then you can be on your way, 'cause I reckon you'd like to not be much tardier."

She pauses, almost for dramatic effect. "Unless you have court, you will be by to pick up that baby _no later than seven."_

He nods, hadn't expected to stay at the office any later than five, really. He'd take home as much as he could, that's what he'd been doing, and when sessions ran over he imagines he'll figure it out as he goes. "Mimi," he assures her, "I won't just leave her here all the time. I know you have a life too, and-

The woman actually rolls her eyes, full on. "Putting words in my mouth, darlin'. That's a habit we gon' have to break. My reasoning is not personal, although I do fancy a game of dice on Tuesday nights."

Mimi steps forward, and even though he had rebelled against letting Julia leave his arms, it's natural that she takes the baby from him, gently. Mimi's arms are far different than her speech. She holds Julia in a way that spells confidence, but there's a laced undertone, too, something like affection. Julia's a light sleeper, but by some miracle, she doesn't wake. The lady looks up at him pointedly. "I expect you to spend time with your baby, is all. She needs your presence in her little life. I'm not a parental figure, Mr. Gardner. I'm just her Mimi."

"That won't be a problem," he breathes, a weight off his shoulders inch by inch. "I'll," he focuses on Julia, distracted for a moment in his own running thoughts. "I'll be here to pick her up by five."

Mimi grins, a thousand creases forming on her face. "Now that's what I like to hear."

She looks down at Julia, fondness in her gaze. "That's a pretty head of curls."

His eyes flit to the clock, but he stops himself. It's his damn firm, anyway. He can afford to be a little late back to the office on his first day back. The meeting can stall.

"She does," he says, something stronger in his conviction. "Her name is Julia."

Mimi smirks. "I know that, Mr. Gardner. You told me on the phone. I remembered."

"She's been teething," he mentions mildly. "You had said you had the formula on the phone, that I didn't need to bring-

"I have everything," she reassures him, walks over to put Julia down as lightly as possible, in a pink cot he hadn't noticed before. Mimi turns back to him.

"Go on now," Mimi makes a motion with her hands. "It'll be harder for you if you don't make a clean break."

/

The law is painful.

Being absent of it, of the suits and the smell of a courtroom, the wood of the chairs, it's all different than when he was suspended, what feels like a lifetime ago. He'd missed it, then, missed having the regular schedule and missed the passion. But there's some odd ache to it, now.

Alicia was a phenomenal lawyer. He wishes he would have told her that more often.

Regardless, the day crawls by, and by the time he's done his hands are shaking to find his car keys. He loves the law, always has. It's natural and good, and he'd never want to give it up. But for right now he doesn't like it much at all. Doesn't like what it signifies. He let Alicia go because of his firm. He's sitting at his cluttered desk a quarter to four when he remembers, shockingly vividly, wiping her desk. Recalls the exact words. _"You're awful."_

His eyes water, and he thinks _no, no, no. _

When he finally gets in his car sometime later, he leans his head against the wheel and lets out a long, dragging whimper. Something like a howl in the back of his throat.

/

Three days later, he's lounging on the couch, reading through some paperwork.

Hears Julia garble something, and he turns his head right as she rolls over. He's watched it enough, but every time it leaves the faint trace of a grin on his face, some pride he can't convey properly without sounding like a parent blogger. It strikes him at odd times that he _is _a Daddy. If you'd have told him he would be two, three years ago, he probably would have laughed.

But all in the same, he watches her and tilts his head. "Jules," he regards softly. "What are you doing?"

She babbles out another chain of unidentifiable syllables, her limbs shifting beneath her.

And then she crawls for the first time.

/

He starts running again.

He works it into his schedule so that during his lunch breaks he can take a mile or two through Central Park. Out of shape, so the burn in his calves brings a grimace to his face, but still. The feeling of running so hard his chest burns was missed. It's a kind of nostalgia that makes him remember taking three in the morning runs at Georgetown.

That's where he realizes what he has to do.

He comes up with an idea, some sweet haven, and he goes with it.

For that bout of stretch, usually so mindless, he dedicates the time to letting himself think about Alicia. When the tears threaten, he pushes himself harder, exerts himself until the pain withers. He thinks about her smile as the spring breeze rocks against him. Thinks about all her little quirks, the way she'd hold a pen between her teeth, the way she had a habit of clicking her heels against a chair's leg when she was bored. He thinks about the first time he saw her and he thinks about the first time he took her to bed.

And somehow, it gets better. The thoughts still strike him, anyway. But the weeks pass and suddenly it's easier to think of it once. Set aside time. If he's struck by how much Julia looks like Alicia when she discovers the texture of a peach, then he'll mark it off as something to think about on his next run. He copes like this.

It works for roughly a month and a half.

/

It's sprinkling when he gets out of the car and enters Mimi's building, and by the time he reaches her door he can hear the full downpour. Worry is all over his face.

"Is she okay?" he asks immediately, tersely. Julia is sobbing, and it makes something in him drive to a halt, because he hasn't heard her like this since the first time she was administered a shot at the doctor's office. Mimi frowns, but bobs her head.

"She's alright, William," she says cautiously, handing her over. "Had the pediatrician down two doors take a look, and he said it's prolly just a cold. Don't worry, hon. The fever isn't too high, and look at that, that's the most she's quieted down all day."

Will presses a kiss to Julia's warm forehead even as she twists in his arms. "Thank you, Mimi. Thank you so much for taking care of her. She seemed a little tired this morning, but I hadn't thought…" he trails off, words marred by guilt.

Mimi scoffs. "Babies get sick, William."

/

She won't sleep. She just _screams._

He Googles all he can, takes her temperature and half convinces himself to take her to emergency room until he comprehends they won't be able to do much other than give her more of the same pain medication he has. Tylenol isn't much, but it's all she can have. Julia sobs until her entire face is a solid cherry, sniffling until she coughs and chokes.

"Shh," he soothes, but it's not enough, and after a moment she continues, burying her face in his chest. He hates that she's in pain. He's halfway to tears himself, and he wants help. He wants to call Mimi, call his sisters. But a part of him knows it won't matter. This is something he has to bare through on his own. It just is.

Will gives up on putting her in her crib around two in the morning. The lightning flashes outside his window, thunder rolling loud and deep in the belly of the storm. It's all offset by an eight month old crying through hiccups, the shrieking piercing his ears. He's exhausted, lying in his bed, Julia on his stomach. She tries to put a thumb in her mouth around her still moving mouth and Will sighs, half traumatized.

And suddenly, he remembers.

Quick.

Sharp.

The memory is hazy around the edges from years of wear, but it's there.

He looks back down at Julia, in her state, makes a decision. It's a long shot, but he just, he has to do something. He has to try. Will distorts his voice. "Hey, I've got a song for my main girl, the only and only, _Julia Gardner_."

He shifts so that her tiny ear is pressed up against his ribcage, and she can feel the vibration of the noises he makes. "Rise up this mornin'," he sings, some half lazy expression on his face when Julia begins to quiet. It's a process, but it happens right as he ends that first verse.

"Singin, don't worry. About a thing. 'Cause every little thing is gonna be alright."

Julia falls asleep to the sound. Will doesn't stop singing until the song is done.

After, he stares up at the ceiling.

And he does not cry.

Will listens to the smack of the rain, the rasp of Julia's breathing, feather light. Somehow, he isn't one bit sad when he remembers the way he and Alicia had stayed up twenty years ago, the way the rain had pounded on the roof then too, listening to Bob Marley and singing along. Drunk off tequila, trying to find themselves. He's not sad at all.

"Your mother loved that song too," he whispers to his daughter.

/

At the end of May, Will takes Julia to the place of her birth for the first time since two weeks after. Grace is graduating, and her mother isn't going to see it. Will's heart hurts for her, twinges. But Grace is excited on the phone, at the very least, thrilled at the prospect of seeing her little sister. Will regrets not being able to have Julia around the family more. Hopes it's something that can develop more over the course of the next few years.

The flight out isn't bad, and Julia is quiet for the most part. A trooper, with her little yellow dress, with her expressive eyes. Mimi swears up and down Julia is the most responsive baby she's ever seen. Says she's got old eyes. Knowing eyes. But Will knows having lawyers for both parents is too much a double whammy for any other product. Will knows this is just the first indication of how much of a smart ass she's going to be when she's older.

The flight attendant flirts with him, eyes his baby bag slung over one shoulder and makes her move. He honestly doesn't realize she's expecting a reaction until he recognizes the disappointment on her face when he barely blinks. Feels kind of bad, but not really.

/

He spends an entire afternoon in the offices of Lockhart and Gardner, mostly to close the deal that Diane called him with three weeks ago. Grace's graduating was the reason for the visit, and it's only fate that the things works well enough to coincide.

Lockhart and Gardner is becoming Lockhart, Gardner, and _Agos._

It's the least they could do, with the economy the way it is, still struggling. And Cary will be a good third partner. Cary's changed a lot, or so Diane said to him on the phone. Diane had persuaded him like a pro, explained the situation with Cary having too much on his plate, but still enough to offer. The logistics are good, and there's a part of Will that gives into the emotion of it, lets it appeal to him. He wants to help Cary. It's the right thing to do, considering the ties that bind.

But Cary _has _changed. There's a deep set in his eyes from financial stress, and he looks older, nothing like the pup Will first hired on as a junior associate. They discuss cases from the noon until three in Diane's office, places to go, where they want to expand. They decide a game plan for Los Angeles, decide on a fixed offer to make at the next partner's meeting. It's professional. If Cary does look at him every once in a while like he's got something to ask, he doesn't.

Will respects him for that.

Of course, he's not expecting Veronica to march across the hallway near the thick windows, right into his vision, cutting off whatever words were leaving his mouth. Julia bouncing along in her arms.

Will shoots up and strides across, opening the door and catching her attention. "Veronica, what are you doing?"

"Just changed a diaper," she responds cheekily.

"I thought you said you were going to watch her for the day," he splutters, brow furrowing.

"I am," Veronica sounds innocent, pursing her lips. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to show off my granddaughter to my boyfriend."

Will glances on down the hallway, where David Lee is perched outside the door, smiling small, genuine. "She'll be a handful in a few years," David warns, winking, before going back into his office.

Julia chooses that moment to coo, reaching for him. Will holds his arms out and Veronica passes the baby off with a grateful sigh. "She's getting heavy."

Will turns back into Diane's office, where Cary and Diane had watched the exchange quietly.

"Will," Diane starts, eyes only for Julia. "David Lee got to meet your daughter before I did."

"Sorry," he apologizes with a quirk of his mouth, rocking Julia a little. She's grasping his tie, the pattern of it entertaining. Diane regards him for a moment.

"Baby on your hip," Diane swiftly mutters. "All I need is you barefoot in the kitchen. It's a feminist's wet dream."

"I've missed you too, Diane," Will snarks back, moving forward. "Would you like to hold her?"

There's a shadow that falls across her face, but before he can pick it apart, it's gone. "Yes," she nods, sure. Warmth in her gaze. "I do. Please."

Will is surprised at how Julia is responding to all the excitement, as she's hardly been around so many people before. She's comfortable, not shell shocked. He's always been like that. Eased into his own skin. Maybe she gets this from him. Julia settles into Diane's lap easily, and Diane lifts her up until her chubby legs are braced against Diane's thighs, nearly standing. Julia reaches for Diane's necklace, but doesn't pull. Will looks over at Cary, watching it all.

The younger man looks over at him, up from the baby.

Something unbelievably sad in his eyes.

And Will knows what Cary is thinking, what Cary is seeing.

Everybody sees it.

"She's beautiful," is all Cary says, his eyes flickering back over to Julia. Diane looks into Julia's green eyes, a lump in her throat.

"She is, Will," Diane adds mutedly.

"Looks like her mother," Will responds, for all of them, for the elephant in the room.

He doesn't have tears in his eyes, but Cary does.

Diane, too.

/

Will inhales the scent of freshly cut grass.

The morning dawns bright, and he laces up his sneakers, ready for exertion. The sight of Grace stops him, outside Veronica's front door. "Hey. What are you doing up this early?"

Grace shakes her head sullenly. "Insomnia. Nerves. The ceremony is tonight, and the house is cramped, and-it doesn't matter, really. I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot," Will invites, leaning up against the countering wall.

Grace looks down at her feet, finding her words.

"I got into Georgetown," she says simply.

Will takes a deep breath, licks his lips. "I knew you'd applied," he recalls. "Do you want to go?"

"I'm the one with the question," she replies, but the joke falls flat. Grace runs a hand through her hair, and Will tries to put on his best understanding adult face. The prospect of Alicia's children always made him nervous, made him some struggling old person, unable to relate. Now, he just wants to offer the best advice. He wants to soothe them in the same sense he can soothe Julia. He wants to help.

"That's where I met your mother," Will offers, at best. The fact is plain, ungarnished by all the little details he could tell her, all the stories. All the other secret, undeniable truths.

"I know. My question is," Grace stops, and there's a weak, undignified hitch in her breathing. "Do you think she would've wanted me to go?"

"She would've wanted you to be happy," he says, without missing a beat. "She _always _wanted you to be happy."

"I know that, too," Grace laughs wetly, shaking her head. "She wouldn't be with you because she was afraid Zack and I couldn't handle it. I know."

"No," Will stops her sharply, makes her look at him fully. "Your mother and I weren't together because-

"It made her a fantastic mom," Grace cuts him off. "She's the best mom. Selfless. But it made her a really sad person, because she didn't understand that sometimes you have to put _you _first."

Grace wipes her eyes, looking out at the rising yellow and orange glittering on the pavement. Will lets her talk, doesn't interrupt. "Mom wanted you to be Julia's father. She did. I promise. I went to one of the ultrasounds, and the technician asked if I was 'filling in for Dad'. And you should've seen the look on Mom's face. She wanted- she wanted _that. _She wanted _you _and I'm so sorry that Zack and I screwed that up, I'm so _sorry."_

Grace's voice breaks, but she holds herself together by the arm wrapped around her body.

Will's at a loss, the knowledge freeing in his chest. But Grace is still reeling, so he comes back to the moment. Hardens himself.

"Grace, that might be true, but I left your mother. I walked away. And there are things that still need to be explained better, if you want to know. Alicia didn't- it wasn't all Alicia's fault. It was just-

"Fate?" Grace questions.

"Bad timing," he reiterates.

He thinks back, back. To a bar and tequila shots. To soft, new kisses.

"Alicia and I have had bad timing since Georgetown."

The words hang heavy.

"But you loved her," Grace mentions, not a question. It's a fact, and she knows it, and he knows it, and she doesn't even give him the benefit of the doubt. "That had to have made a difference. Made it worth it. And Julia. Julia wasn't bad timing."

"No," Will confirms, leaning his head back against the cobblestone and shifting his neck to look at the blue sky, such a rarity for Chicago. It looks like hope, like reprieve. "Julia was the best timing of all."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N- *backs away slowly* Nobody shoot, please. I know I haven't updated in forever and a day, and this time the only excuse I have is life, and plot bunnies for other things. I will really, REALLY try to get the next chapter out within the next two weeks. Thank you to all the people who have read this story, sincerely. I love you all _so _much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. **

* * *

The third week of June, Owen shows up at the apartment in leather riding boots and a cowboy hat, and Will is vaccinated enough to only give it a dull stare. "It is tradition," Owen explains, waltzing in like he owns the place. "I am professor by day, black sheep Cavanaugh by night. I have to wear my disguise, or else people might _recognize me. _At least," he shakes his head, rolling his suitcase along. "That's the reason Alicia always believed."

Will half smirks, all too aware how much it must take out of Owen to joke like that, now. Humor is a rare luxury, this past year. "Jules is playing in the living room in her pen," he says, stopping by the kitchen counter. "How was your flight?"

Owen's eyebrows waggle. "Jewels? Wow, that's cute. I guess she did _come _from the crown jewels, but-

Face wrinkling, Will makes a disgusted noise. "Oh, come on."

"My flight was great, thanks. No, but aren't you the one who shortened it to _Leesh, _too? Do you just give people nicknames to suit your psychological categories?"

"You caught me," he rolls his eyes. "You want some water, Ow?"

"Yes, please. _Ow?"_

Will takes a dramatic pause so that Owen knows he's joking. "If you're too much of a pain in my ass, _Ow, _I'll put you out on the street tonight."

"It's New York," Owen boasts, taking the full glass when it's offered to him. "City that never sleeps. I'll be _fine." _After a moment, he sobers, glancing around at the chic cabinets, sleek appliances. "She always liked this city. She'd have loved it here," he murmurs, and at that moment Will admires Alicia's brother if only because of his resilience. A familial trait.

Will sighs, looking down at the tile, wetting his lips. "We were here a few years ago, for a business trip. Before-

Shakes his head like he's shaking away the memory. He can't afford to go there, right now. But Owen just nods, because Owen remembers taking care of Zack and Grace when Alicia had been needed elsewhere. Needed might have been a stretch, but still. It was a good while before the firm jump, before it all came crumbling. Long before Julia was even a twinkle in his sister's eye.

"She talked about how much she admired it, then," Will goes on roughly, pushing away the remembrance of a balcony. Of Alicia's shoulder in his mouth.

They sit in silence, for a moment, until a shrill babble comes from the baby monitor that's unnecessary, because it echoes throughout the living space, regardless. Owen chuckles. "She's definitely learned how to make _demands. _Wonder who she got _that _from."

/

Julia is standing in her pen unsteadily, gripping the edges of it for dear life as she sways her lower half from side to side. Owen finds this to be the cutest thing he's ever seen, coos like there's no tomorrow. Will takes a step back, sits down on the couch and watches Owen pick up the infant, throw her in the air despite the fact it makes him cringe. A round of squealing rings in his ears when Owen blows raspberries, but hey, Will can cut Owen a break. Julia _is _pretty cute.

Owen looks at Julia seriously, frowning as his gazes into her green eyes. "I want to eat you."

Julia babbles in response, spit bubbling between her lips. "Is she saying people words yet?" Owen throws in Will's direction, not even giving him a second glance.

"No," Will shakes his head, shrugging. "From what I've read, it'll be soon. She's got it all figured out, though, so I'm not worried."

"On her own time, huh?" Owen quips, pinching her cheek and leaning in so that Julia startles back and makes noises. "Zack and Grace were such serious babies. She's _happy," _he observes carefully, as gentle as Owen Cavanaugh can be.

"That smile," he goes on, and then stops, abrupt.

Owen looks at Julia, looks like he's about to cry.

"You want me to take her?" Will asks cautiously, and Owen nods, passing her off efficiently, as if his skin is burning. Julia bounces on her father's knee once she's settled again, completely unfazed.

Owen wipes at his eyes, breath staggering. "I'm fine," he sniffles. "It's okay. Sorry. It's just, you should see how much she looks like-

"I know, Owen," Will cuts him off, desperate. It's swift because he has to say it, has to get it out there. "I look at her every day. Trust me. _I know."_

_/_

They decide, against all odds, it's a worthy idea to go out for dinner. Since Julia, Will has rarely gone out unless for client meetings, but this is different, with Julia in her stroller. Necessary acclimation to human interaction, the books would say. The best thing about Owen's company is that it feels natural, feels easy, and since Owen had cried in the living room, there hadn't been any emotional breakdowns to be dealt. Alicia had always talked about being the adult, in all situations, from the time they were thirteen until thirties.

Maybe, Will thinks somberly, her dying had been the final push towards total adulthood, for Owen. The erasing of those last few immaturities. But then he thinks of the cowboy hat, and shakes his head. This is still Owen. Just Owen _grief stricken. _

At first, when suggesting a restaurant, Will had shied away from making this kind of a decision, holding his hands to the fire and letting them burn up, letting the notion of pushing himself into the crosshairs of a mental haywire run amuck, but no. He needed to do this. He picks _that _place. The place they'd had something together, years ago, during that meeting with Ashbaugh. The place they'd met again, hours before Alicia had stood on stage at the Bar Association conference. Never had she been more beautiful, even as the edges of anger still smoldered at all her meaningless questions.

Never had he been more proud.

But they get settled into the café and Will is glad for the atmosphere. Isn't afraid of Julia crying, because he knows she's not that kind of baby, but is still grateful that the lack of looks that get is because of the casual atmosphere. Owen is chattering in his ear about Veronica's latest shenanigan when the host, "So, will it just be you and your husband this evening, or is there anyone else joining you? Do you want a kid's menu, or-

"He's my brother," Owen explains, pursing his lips and giving the guy a full body scan that makes Will feel like he's intruding. "And besides, he's not really my type. I prefer dark hair and-

"No kids menu, thanks," Will chokes, giving Julia his keys to play with and trying to distract everyone in the situation. Owen sniggers when the host leaves, but not before passing Owen his number on a paper napkin. "What?" Will hears tossed his way, and Owen sounds mock offended. "Your Alicia impression is perfecto, by the way. You have uncomfortable sibling down to a tee."

Will smiles warmly, even as his heart gives that familiar twinge, handing Julia a child adapted cup of cheerios. "I'm not really trying," he admits, slightly off handed, eyes fixated on a table off to their left, in the center section. They were there, what feels like yesterday. They were sitting right there. "Thank you for coming down this weekend, Owen. It's-

"Of course I would," Owen cuts him off, impatient, a note of confusion coloring his tone. "Why wouldn't I want to see my niece?"

"I was never technically your brother," Will reminds, remembering how all he'd wanted was to reach out and kiss Alicia, that day. All he'd wanted was to kiss her and shut her up and never, ever let her leave again. Make her apologize. Make her love him like he'd always, always loved her.

"You should've been."

Owen says it in such a way, that's raised an octave. That has Will shifting to look at the younger man. Owen looks angry. No. Owen looks _pissed. _"Don't diminish your role in our family just because you never put a rock on Alicia's finger. You would've, because you seem like the old fashioned type, but you didn't get the chance. You would've been ten times the husband Peter Florrick was, in any case."

Will stares at him, taken aback. Mouth dry, as they breach so many things left unsaid for so long, so many wants, so many dreams. Will exhales through his nose shakily, biting the inside of his cheek.

They get their drinks, and Owen takes a sip before stating, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, "You were my sister's soul mate. And you're my niece's father. So, William Gardner, you are hereby my honorary brother. If I ever-

Even as Owen rambles on, Will can only focus on the table, even as it's left unoccupied.

He can remember how he'd wanted to reach out and touch her face, even then, how it felt as if each cell in his body was drawn to her, despite all the hate and discourse, the betrayal still lurking in his veins. Thinks Owen hit the nail right on the head.

/

He puts Julia down at eight and three beers in, Owen suddenly gets up from the kitchen island and abandons the conversation. "Owen?" Will questions, and his eyebrows shoot up when Owen presents him with a DVD. "What is-

"Zack gave it to me," Owen tells him, cryptic. "He didn't want to be weird and give it to you, so he gave it to me to give to you. I get why he'd think it's a little weird, but it's not like you're a total stranger, and-

"Owen," Will barks, head cocked. "What is it?" He turns the case over in his hand, opening it to find the same cover as the outside: blank.

"Something you need to have," is all Owen says, and skips to the next topic of conversation. Two more beers, and Will manages to forget the DVD completely.

/

Time passes in a dizzy array of Julia, work, runs, eating, and little to no sleep. Summer in New York City isn't as miserable as people like to paint it out to be, and even as the heat wafts off the building, it builds him, makes him relish taking his daughter to the park as much as he can. He loves watching her learn new things, loves watching her discover all the world has to offer through her little eyes. He slathers her up with sunscreen because he knows how Alicia had the tendency to burn, and takes her to Central Park on a day perfect for a picnic. Her first. The blanket is blue and checkered, and he cuts her off a piece of apple because it's her favorite, these days. She teethes it intently.

Julia crawls around and pulls up grass until he pulls her onto his lap and snuggles her up, points up at the clouds. Julia's still physically small for her age, still more a baby, but all the same, it doesn't make him feel insane, explaining the simple workings of the sky to her. As a child, one of his favorite things was finding shapes.

One of his fondest Georgetown memories was a day after finals, when all Alicia wanted to do was eat comfort food and act like the child she never was. They'd watched the clouds up against a tree, together. They hadn't kissed, because he'd had Helena and Alicia had already found Peter, but it had been a close call. That was always their _almost_ first kiss. Julia is watching her father with a smile on her face like she comprehends it all. All Daddy's girl.

Then, she opens her mouth like she's about to start on a rant. He jokes when people ask, that when she's babbling unintelligible syllables, she's having a law debate- just in baby speak.

She opens her mouth, and she goes, "Da."

His mouth goes slack in point three seconds flat.

Julia rocks forward and slaps her hand against his cheek in a common gesture, faint sticky residue from the fruit fresh on her skin. To hell with the clouds, Will thinks.

"Da-_a." _

/

Will practically collapses onto the couch, ear drums about to explode, migraine consuming him, and Jesus, he still has to prepare for a particularly tedious cross examination tomorrow. It's two in the morning, and on top of the usual wear and tear of the week, Julia will _not _go to sleep. When he puts her in her crib, she cries. Not for lack of trying, it's nearly impossible to get much work done with her in his lap- and really, he can't fathom what's gotten into her. Generally, she's good about going to sleep on time, saves the stubborn for Mimi. He's taken her temperature, sang to her, left her alone to cry herself to sleep, but it's just not- _working. _

And she keeps calling for him. He _knows _Julia's a smart girl (because of _course _she'd be smart, with her parentage and all), he _knows _she's an intellectual kid, because even at eleven months old, she already knows that if she calls him by his name in a certain way, there is not a chance, for all that's holy, that he is going to ignore it.

"Da-a," she whines, squirming. "Da-a, da-a, da-ee."

Patience is not something William Paul Gardner was born with.

At the end of his rope- almost two thirty, and still so much to do, and she keeps calling _his _name, and the thing is, he's an independent person, by nature. He can do this. He's been doing this for the past year, knows how to change a diaper backwards and forwards, knows how to soothe her, but this isn't _I need to be soothed. _This is _I want attention. _

He understands, in little moments like this, how easier it would be if Julia did have two parents. It leaves some raw ache in him, like it always does. This big gaping hole, and it can be inflamed at the faintest touch. Keeps getting reopened, even now, as he's sitting on the couch and turning on the DVD player, and it feels like this is the most important thing he'll ever do. Situating Julia so that she can see the television, falling back against the pillows. The screen is resonating blue, and then black.

And then, then it begins.

He hears Alicia's voice and sees her face, and it's the same as it was the first night he watched it, had watched it over and over again until he fell asleep.

What takes him by surprise, is how Julia _stops. _

Her little eyes look content to watch the screen, and that-

That's what he was going for, wasn't it?

That's what he was going for, and it still kills him over, and over, and over again.

Although the original plan was to relax on the sofa for a moment, he shifts down to the floor in an instant, even as the hard floor is bad on his knees. He gets behind Julia, pulls her so that he can talk into her ear. Alicia is still talking, and even if it's digital, even if she's not really _here, _it still feels like she's giving him some kind of elusive confidence he hasn't had. "That's your mommy," he whispers, pointing up at the screen.

He doesn't feel like an idiot. He doesn't. "Can you say that, Julia? 'Mommy?'"

Soft, _beautiful _laughter emits from his surround sound speakers, and very, very slowly, he watches Julia curl up on her side, thumb in her mouth. Watching the screen until her little lavender eyelids flutter, until she falls asleep like that. He leaves the DVD playing, doesn't dare disturb her.

Brings his work into the living room because he _can. _

_/_

That's how _that _ritual begins. The only person who will ever really know about it is Will himself, but for the next two weeks, every night, just before bed, he'll play the home movie, watch right up until he doesn't have to do anything else, or when Julia falls asleep. It puts her to sleep, a lullaby that outweighs any stupid Bob Marley song. It hurts him, he won't lie.

It hurts him to have to listen, over and over. It hurts him that he has to keep repeating it. "'Mommy'," he reminds Julia. "That's 'Mommy'."

Owen had mentioned that weekend he came up to New York, that there was a stark chance that Julia would never recognize Alicia, if she saw her in a crowd. Will hadn't seen the video yet, so he hadn't realized the two went hand in hand. Zack probably made copies for himself and Grace. Will hopes there are copies, somewhere. All the more, he's incredibly grateful the young man had the foresight to offer up the footage. He's so, so grateful the movie even _exists. _

"_Mommy," _Will points at the screen, what must be two weeks in.

Julia's making screeching sounds. "Ma-"

But then she stops, giggling right along with Alicia, on the screen.

Will makes a disgruntled sound, but grins. It's a start.

_/_

The last week in July, they drive to DC to help Grace move. Will knows the area, and even if it's reigniting dull burns, it means more to him to see Grace squeal when she sees her sister, hoist the baby up around her waist and hug Julia so tightly it's as if she'll never see her again. "You've gotten big," Grace talks directly to Julia. "How are you doing, sweet girl?"

"'ace," Julia slurs, her chocolate curls falling down her forehead. "'ace."

"She's talking?" Grace inquires to Will, mouth parting in shock, such light in her eyes.

"A few words," he answers, even as Owen and Veronica walk up together, Zack still getting a few boxes.

"My first word was dog," Grace comments, tilting her head.

"_Dog,"_ Julia murmurs, although the diction of the word is the clearest of anything.

Veronica narrows her eyes at Will. "Are you getting her a puppy? You know all the studies say it's not good to spoil them young-

"_Dog," _Julia says again, sharper. It's almost in Veronica's direction, almost spiteful, and it's _funny._

"I don't think Jules agrees with you," Grace tells her grandmother teasingly, bouncing the baby on her hip and tilting her back until she giggles from the sensation. Will notes that Grace does look like she's lost weight, but still looks infinitely healthier than she had at her graduation. Less depressed, at the very least. She's cut her hair off to just below her shoulders, can recall Owen telling Will that Jackie, Peter's mother, had a fit about it a few months ago.

"'ace," Julia whispers, touching a lock of her sister's hair, and something in Will tells him Grace's smile was worth the drive, worth the fact it's twice as hot in DC as it was in New York. It's worth it.

It really is.

/

Tuesday morning he wakes to the sound of Fleetwood Mac blaring throughout the hotel room. Will sits up and his eyes are stuck on Julia's foldable sleeping pen. Mostly, the lack of her in it.

"Veronica," he splutters, trying to pull the covers around himself, even though it's not like he's indecent. Just taken off guard.

"Owen gave me the spare room key." But Veronica barely spares him a second glance, sitting at the table near the window, Julia swinging her legs off of it. The portable CD player is a garish shade of pink. "My granddaughter is officially one year old," she tells him, like she's _informing _him.

"It's time to start her Stevie Nicks education."

/

"I wasn't able to educate the other two in appropriate music," the woman explains bleakly, adjusting her sunglasses and frowning. "I'm trying to save her before she's exposed to Miley _Cyrus, _or Justin Beiber. Have you not seen what-

It's a little later, and Will is dressed, shaking his head as he puts Julia's sock on her little foot.

"Her favorite song is 'Bohemian Rhapsody'," he reassures Veronica in mock seriousness, knowing that if Alicia were here she'd probably be four hundred percent pissed that her mother woke them up this earlier to preach about music taste. She'd always talked about how her family could be, but now Will has had a taste of it, and Will finds- Will finds he doesn't mind at all.

"I _guess _that's alright then," Veronica tries to pass off, but the smirk playing at her lips tells Will she's half kidding.

/

They already have Grace all settled in, so they decide to spend the day sight seeing, even if Will already knows the sights. Even if Zack was here for his senior trip a few years ago. Even if Veronica was here in the 60s for a party or two, even if Owen and Grace have been, too.

It's different, as some sort of patchwork extended family.

By his request, gifts will be exchanged later, will be opened in Will's apartment when he gets Julia home so that the combined wrapping paper from his sisters, his mother, and Alicia's family will put Julia in ripping heaven. That will be her ultimate birthday gift, far more valued than the pretty red dress Veronica had presented this morning, insisted upon. "She'll have rubies, when she's older," Veronica had said, a little more somber, a little more serious. "Red is _definitely_ her color."

Will had just bit his lip and nodded.

It's not like he could say exactly what he thought. Veronica is still the most fragile of them all.

/

Still, there comes a time, that evening, when they get to the least high class restaurant they can find, eat their fill after walking all day, and get some kind of lava cake for dessert. Julia loves chocolate.

The way Will sees it, this is probably the only birthday she _won't _remember, so hey, if she decides to bury her face in that cake, ruin her dress with the fudge icing, it's absolutely dandy. Grace snaps as many pictures as she can, and Zack can't stop laughing at the grunting sounds Jules makes, and Owen keeps taking it all in with this sparkle in his eye. It's not balloons and decorations. It's not candles.

But after they leave the establishment, intent to go back to their rest places as the sun begins to droop over the Mall, Grace sheds her shrug and shoes so that she's left in a tank and capris. Grace takes Julia from his arms, all her messy, baby self-

Grace runs with her sister through the sprinklers to wash away the sugary concoction.

Will watches it all with a half smile on his face, but he's also looking over at a cement wall, a barrier between the watering hole and the trees, just a few feet from where Grace and Julia are, a few feet away from Veronica and Owen, he and Zach. He remembers sitting with Alicia on that very wall, watching the sun go down. They rarely ever ventured into the city from Georgetown, there was barely any time, but there was one odd day when they could, and-

The sprinklers coat everybody in a light sheen of water, so no one sees it if his eyes glaze over just slightly. As soon as it's there, it's gone again, too. Because today is a happy day.

This morning, he woke up, and realized that every birthday of Julia's will be the anniversary of Alicia's death. Will realized, watching Veronica sing _Dreams _to his daughter, that he had to make the decision. It's not forgetting. It's choosing what to remember.

Empty hospital beds, or the way Julia had kicked her feet the first time he'd laid eyes on her.

A eulogy, or a home video.

It's all about decisions. It has been, he thinks, since the moment the test said positive.

It has been, since the moment he made the decision to leave for New York.

Since he made the decision to fall in love with a beautiful, witty twenty three year old.

Since he made the decision to let her go.

/

They stand outside Grace's door and chat idly. Owen and Veronica are interrogating him about what he'll do when-

"Will? Grandma? Uncle Owen?" Grace calls out, and Will freezes.

She sounds like she's crying, and Julia-

But Veronica has already pushed the door open where it had been slightly cracked, venturing in to find Grace with tears pooling in her eyes, sitting criss cross, Julia in her lap. Will furrows his eyebrows, opens his mouth to- "What's-

"Look," Grace's breath hitches, and she picks up something Will hadn't noticed before, off to the right of the girls. "Just look," she whispers.

Julia's mouth is pursed in concentration, rocking back and forth even as Grace points to the picture. "Who's that, Jules? Who's that?"

"Ma," Jules breaks out, her two or three pearly white teeth bared. Veronica puts a hand over her heart.

"I wouldn't have thought she would have recognized it," Grace sniffles, rubbing her eyes, mascara smearing.

"I showed her the video," Will tells them all calmly, and even if Veronica looks confused, she doesn't comment. "I wanted her to-

"_Mommy," _Julia garbles, grabbing ahold of the picture in her clumsy grip.

Pulling it towards her to hold.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N- This chapter is dedicated to orbythesea because that lovely lady was my 100th reviewer, and she's also a pretty fantastic writer if I do say so myself. This is free advertisement. Go read her A/W stories. They're groovy, and deserve more reviews. Anyway, hope y'all enjoy! Thanks for reading!**

* * *

"Watch it!" somebody yells at him, but he's too much in his own bubble to cast a wayward apology toward the unfortunate person he'd barreled into. He takes the stairs up to the apartment two at a time, and as he waits for the elevator, it feels like years are passing, his palms sweating.

Out of breath and red in the face by the time he stands in front of Mimi's door, knocks sharply. Eight times.

"Alright now," Mimi's voice comes as he can hear the locks clicking, a hint of frustration in her tone. "Just wait a hot minute."

Once he's finally in the door, he's waiting to _see, _this crushing weight of something pressed against his chest, he's waiting, creeping in on cat's feet, and-

"It was just after I lied her down for nap, you see. I'd sat down to rest my feet and watch some of The Five and she just-

But Mimi's words fade into the background soundtrack when he finds his daughter sitting on the carpet in the woman's living room, her toys strewn about. Julia notices him enter the room, a delighted smile stretching her cheeks, making a positive sound in the back of her throat. "Daddy," she articulates, pushing herself up onto her knees- and he holds his breath.

He stops there, at the edge of the carpet, mouth parting as he watches intently. "Hey, Jules," he coos, all mush.

Julia braces her little hand against the couch, and he wants to help her. Will wants to run to her, help her hoist herself up, but he knows he can't. He knows this is her moment, and it's watching her grow right before his eyes when Julia does what she does next. She stands on her own, on legs that are only partially wobbly.

The little girl splays her arms out in front of her to balance herself.

Walks towards her father in uneven steps.

Will is frozen, taking her in, but then finds himself sinking to his knees in his slacks that had been pressed yesterday, if only so that he's level with her. It feels like time has gone from slow to quick in his tenure, feels as if he could have this moment pressed into a book like rose petal.

He holds out his arms for her, and she stumbles into them.

Doesn't realize he's crying until Julia's demeanor shifts into a frown, pawing at his face to wipe at the tears. "Daddy, sad?"

"No," he gasps, choking on his guffaw. Mimi is laughing quietly, off to the side.

"Proud of you, Jules," Will manages, and then picks her up off the ground, rising to his feet to swing her around a bit. She shrieks, hysterical. "So proud of you."

/

"I wasn't here," he murmurs to Mimi, to himself. Julia has fallen asleep on his shoulder, tuckered from the excitement of the day. The older woman had insisted on cooking them dinner this evening to celebrate, and he'd stayed later than he'd planned, chat low and pointed.

He rubs Julia's back in steady circles, not conscious he's doing it.

He'd been in court when Mimi had called to inform his secretary that Julia had walked for the first time. His secretary hadn't called them until the ten minute recess, and by then, it had already been two hours. Guilt eats at him in ways he'd never expected. It was a big moment.

It was a huge moment.

And he'd been-

"Oh, William, she was going to do it on her own time, anyway. I hadn't told you, but I've been working with her for weeks on trying to be more independent, maybe getting her to stand all by herself, and she just wasn't budging." Mimi rolls her eyes as she's recounting, shoving her white hair behind her ear. "Then, lo and behold, today she just _decides. _Practically _waltzed _in on me watching television, and then wouldn't stop toddling around. She's a smart girl, but she's got a stubborn streak that you're going to have to watch. You mark my words-

The discomfort that was lapping at his heels fades, just like that.

"She just _decides," _Will repeats Mimi's words, and he goes back to a red dress, to red lips.

Their daughter walked for the first time, today.

The baby they made is walking, is growing. It scratches hard and unapologetic, these kinds of realizations, of observations. The feeling he gets when it hits him, it's not sadness.

He's candid with Mimi. He's always felt he could be.

"I miss..," Will starts, and Mimi nods because she understands, just like that. It's one of only a handful of times they've spoken of Alicia. Mimi doesn't even know Alicia's name, actually. To Mimi, Alicia is just a dead person, just a dead mother, and it twists something inside Will that the woman who takes care of their daughter, who is so infused into their lives, knows so little of the other half that made Julia- of the reason Julia is here, thriving and being a beautiful being.

"It's not that I'm not happy," he goes on, that same discourse plaguing him, that same unrest that's been there for the past two years, even before, since- "But it's so hard to be completely _happy_ when-

"No, I hear you, darlin'. I do. It'll get to the point where it's no joy, but lacks salt," Mimi says, very clearly. "That's the only peace there is, when it comes to remembering. Knowing you'll never be able to hold him _or her _ever again- it's a loss, and," Tiffany Hart lilts even deeper into her accent, forehead creased in her own sadness. "It makes physical pain look like chicken shit. Pardon my French," she chuckles, hollow.

Will looks down at Julia, how her rib cage expands with steady breaths.

"No joy, but lacks salt," he repeats, nodding in agreement. "That sounds about right."

/

The seventeenth of October, the firm opens a branch in LA for Cary to run.

It's been two years, to the day, since he last touched Alicia's face.

/

Fifteen minutes of sweat and tears and all he's left with is black, smudged fingers, and a fussy baby. "Daddy, no," Julia moans, tossing her head of curls and nearly shaking off her costumed headband. "Hot," she whines loudly, pulling at her tail.

Will scrambles for a mirror, sticking it in front of her face. "See, Jules? You're a kitty."

It's almost comical, how quickly her expression shifts to one of excitement, just at seeing her own reflection. It's not the worst he could have done, cute, right down to the crooked makeup smears across her cherubic cheeks.

"Meow," Julia tells him, sweetly. "Meow."

"That's what sound a cat makes, Jules, that's right," he grins, the stress receding. He checks his watch, and picks her up off his bathroom counter, hitching her on his hip.

"You ready to go get some candy, little one?" he asks her, moving toward the sound of knocking at his door, and-

"Uncle Will!" Lilly greets, fastening her arms around his waist in a constricting hug. "Trick or treat!"

Sarah's wearing a witch's hat to compliment her daughter's ensemble, but Lilly is the one with the full face of green make up, staining his jeans a nice bright emerald. "Hey stranger," she greets warmly, leaning in to give him a one armed hug and taking his daughter in her own arms in the same fell swoop. "And how are you, little miss?"

Julia sticks her thumb in her mouth, tucking her chin into her chest.

Meanwhile, his niece tugs on his arm, garnering his attention. "Are we going?"

"Lilly," Sarah reprimands sternly, but Will is quick to interject.

"We're going," he assures the nine year old, grabbing the orange jack-o-lantern bucket off the side table by the door, grabbing Julia's coat too, just in case it gets a little too chilly.

Sarah passes Julia back to Will, and he bounces her on his hip as Sarah takes her own daughter's hand.

And off they go.

/

Although Sarah was just going to drive up for the night, it ends up being too busy to find a hotel, and New York City transportation is not allowing her to leave on Halloween, of all nights. It's eleven before they get Julia and Lilly out and down for the night, and by then they're too tired to do anything more than have some beers while watching whatever's on television- a horror movie that came out last year, by the looks of it. Lots of gore and screams, so they have to turn the volume down. Aubrey doesn't have the temperament to watch this kind of stuff, never did.

"She's a sweet little girl," Sarah comments mildly, while it's on a commercial break.

"She is," Will murmurs, thinking. "You know I used to not understand what you meant, when you said you'd do anything for Lilly. I mean, I empathized as best I could, but when you're not a parent, you just don't comprehend the meaning, and-

Sarah reaches a hand out and pats his arm. "You didn't have to do it, you know? There are some men who would have heard the word 'baby' and ran the other direction, especially if the woman who mothered her wasn't around to-

"Alicia didn't _choose_ not to be around," Will cuts her off, more defensive than he'd exactly meant for his response to be. "I mean, sorry. Why would you say it like that?"

Sarah looks down at her lap, frowning uncomfortably. "I don't know, Will. Sorry. Have you spoken to Mom recently?"

"No. Been busy. Why?"

"Because," Sarah pauses, clearing her throat. "Mom thinks you're doing all this out of a sense of obligation, and-

"Of course I feel obligated," Will growls, and this time it's every bit as harsh as he intends it to be. "She's my daughter_."_

There's a long moment where it seems like the conversation will be dropped, until Sarah says, quietly, almost as if it's the worst kind of truth, "Will, are you positiveshe's your kid?"

Will's mouth goes slack, face contorting as the sugar from the candy he'd consumed is sharp on his tongue, makes him nauseated.

"I'm sorry," his sister whispers, pained. "I'm sorry I'm even asking you this. But Mom had wondered-

"I haven't had a fucking _paternity test_ done," Will speaks, and this time it's so desperately terse the blood in Sarah's veins runs cold, goose bumps breaking out across her pale skin. Her hair sticks flat against her forehead, in her eyes. She's never seen her brother this shaken, crazed looking. "But you know the funny thing?"

Sarah shakes her head, even if it's rhetorical. There's nothing funny here.

"It wouldn't make a difference," he realizes, wry, startled at his own self. "It wouldn't make a difference, because I love Julia so much. I would lay down my life for her."

On the screen, somebody's murdered with an axe, guts strewn about. Sarah watches the scene, and then looks back at her brother, tears in her eyes. "Will, you're a good person."

He scoffs, dark humor in his eyes. "Far cry from Chicago's Sixteenth Most Eligible Bachelor, eh?"

"You used to the bachelor," Sarah amends for him, softening. She squeezes his shoulder, waiting until his muscles lost some of the tension. "Now, you're…the father."

The side of Will's mouth tugs upwards. "The father, huh? That's a title I could work with."

/

He feels the curve of her soft fingers on his upper lip, tracing out its shape.

"Alicia," he whispers, snuggling deeper into the unbelievable warmth of wherever he is. It's light, bright, and Alicia's smile is so close, so real. It stretches her lips, the whiteness of her teeth nearly as blinding as the ambiance. He reaches out to thread his fingers through her dark tresses that contrast so sharply against her pale, milky skin, to smell of her honey and lavender shampoo.

Tangible, in the way she laughs in his ear, the way he can feel her mouth pressed against his carotid. "Will," she catches his attention, angling her body so that there's distance between them, enough for him to take note of her swollen stomach, of the way she seems huge beneath her nightgown. "Will," Alicia says again, clearer. "I'm proud of you."

He reaches down to feel of Julia kicking in her mother's stomach.

It's like a thousand candles filling his chest, all lit up against the sky of night. They laugh together, breathless and infectious, leaning in their hands until he can feel Alicia's hair brushing his face, his mouth. When he moves his hand, though, he runs his it across something wet, and-

Will pulls away to find that his fingers are coated in fresh, warm blood.

"Where's it coming from?" she blurts, going pale.

It's all going too quick, all of a sudden, the blink of an eye, and Will struggles to put pressure, to find the place where the blood is coming from, pouring from, but before he knows it Alicia is writhing and the sheets are doused and he can barely breathe. "It's okay," he tries to say, tries to do anything, even as the red keeps coming. "You're gonna be fine, Alicia. I can get you a doctor, or-

But Alicia doesn't even spare him a glance, has remained calm throughout the entire ordeal, barely even flinches when she's liberally soaked in her own blood. Dying, she's-

"Will," Alicia murmurs, suddenly, tears streaking her cheeks. It's the only confirmation of pain, of any shock, and- "Will, I'm alone," Alicia cries raggedly. "I'm alone."

She looks _terrified._

"No," Will chokes, shaking his head sternly. "No, no, no. You're _not _alone," he tries to tell her. "I'm right here, and you are not going to die. You are not going to die."

Will tries to stroke her cheek, but she twists it away.

"No," Alicia moans, rubbing her macabre bump, beautiful face contorted in pain. It is miles away from how she'd spoken with such pride, such adoration only moments ago, and the conviction in which she looks at him nearly kills him, cripples him. "No, I was all alone. You know you let me be alone, and-

"I'm here," Will whispers brokenly, maroon everywhere.

And Alicia looked so _good _in red. And-

"I don't want to go," Alicia pants. Begs. "I don't want to _go._"

And then she closes her eyes and Will opens his mouth to scream and-

/

"Will!" Sarah shakes him awake, hissing his name. "Will, wake up!"

He comes to in a panic, eyes darting wildly. Body soaked in cold sweat.

"It was just a dream," she soothes, and tries to pat his hair, but he moves away, doesn't want to be touched, and his chest aches, and-

Will's breathing is so uneven he thinks he might be hyperventilating. Having a panic attack.

Sarah's dark hair smells a little like Alicia's did, and he wonders, fleetingly, if they use similar hair products. "It's seven," she tells him. "I already got Julia up, but I was going to make pancakes for all of us before we head out and-

"Daddy," he hears Julia call out, from just inside the door. She sways along, her blankie in her hand, and he moves to put his feet on the floor, despite the cooling perspiration on his body, besides the nightmare still playing over and over again in his head. Opens his arms to her, and Sarah takes a step back to watch.

"Are you good?" Sarah asks him nervously, once Julia has situated herself in his lap, wrinkling her nose against the smell. He nearly chuckles at that, all weak and pent up.

"Getting there," he admits, and rubs his eyes with his free hand. "It was probably the scary movie last night. And the candy before bed," he passes off. "Yeah. That was probably it."

But Sarah doesn't laugh like he thinks she will, doesn't accept it.

"Were you there when she was born?" Sarah wonders, confusion and apprehension in her gaze. Will looks at Julia and questions why he has the urge to cover her ears, but knows she's not getting any of it, and doesn't quite know why Sarah would be asking because Sarah already knows the answer, and-

"No," Will says, bleak. "Why?"

Sarah purses her lips solemnly. "No reason."

/

He passed on last year's Thanksgiving dinner at the Governor's mansion, so it's only polite that he agree this year. Will Gardner prepares himself for the ordeal for the three weeks leading up to it in every way he possibly can, envisioning any and all catastrophe scenarios, but in the end, even he can't plan for Julia developing a bit of a cold three days before, can't plan for spending a flight in tears of her little head aching-

Can't imagine pulling into the elegant, stone paved driveway, to find Veronica and Owen dressed as an Indian and a turkey. Nope.

Some things in life, one just can't think through.

/

Julia sees her sister and _clings. _Will understands, anyway, that she's the most familiar person in a huge abyss of new, but it leaves a lump in his throat, how Julia buries her snotty nose in her older sister's shoulder and allows her legs to go limp, falling like a ragdoll. "Gracie, sick. 'm sick."

"Allergies, huh?" Grace frowns at her brother, at Will. "You know she's going to have to get shots when she gets older, right? If her allergies are anything like-

But then she stops her own self, shakes her head. "Let's get inside. Dinner's ready."

Zack fills him in on his latest college shenanigan on their way further inside the mansion, complete with quips from Owen and Veronica, right up until-

"Will," Peter acknowledges, and Will immediately tenses up, because, well, he can't help it.

But then he loosens his sternum, rolls his shoulders back, and meets Peter's eyes as he shake his hand. "Hi, Peter."

Peter looks old.

Far greyer than he was in the hospital, white in places, deeper lines offset around his eyes, and to put it simply, he looks worn. Tired.

"She's getting big," Peter nods to Julia, still half asleep in Grace's arms. "Time really does fly, when they're little."

"Yeah," Will swallows, knows how weird it is that they can make small talk, can remember a time when all he wanted was to softly hit Peter over the head with a metal pipe.

A small smile tugs at his lips.

/

He doesn't technically meet Jackie Florrick until they're sat down for dinner, and that, he thinks, is where it all starts to go wrong. The woman looks at him like he's the bottom of her shoe, a curl to her lip that makes him think ugly, makes him think of a dragon flaring its nostrils.

He quells the urge to say something, because it's not his place.

The food is delicious, as expected. A far cry from his mother's Turkey Day, but still settling enough that the grand dining table is filled with soft laughter and good banter, an east, familial peace. The conversation topics are far more eccentric than that at a normal table, but still- with Owen on his left, Grace on his right with Julia still clinging, it's happy.

But Julia hinders Grace being able to eat properly, won't go to save her life.

Mewls when Will tries to take her, and-

"It's okay," Grace bursts out after the second attempt. "I've missed her a lot, Will. Trust me, it is totally okay. Here, Jules, look. Cranberries?"

Julia turns her head to take a bite off of Grace's spoon, and the content sound she makes in the back of her throat has everybody at the table, save Jackie, making sounds of amusement. Wrapped around her little finger, and-

"I wish," Will notes wistfully, taking a bite of his mashed potatoes and chewing. "That she wouldn't get by with so much. I spoil her, I think. Maybe a little."

Owen raises one eyebrow, snorting, and Veronica laughs whole heartedly.

"Hey," Peter juts in, and Will's head snaps up, curious. "You're a father. What are you going to do?"

Will cracks another smile, nodding, thoughtful. "She likes routine, which is nice. I, uhm, I'm supposed to be a big, mean, tough lawyer, so this doesn't leave this table, but I know every line to Yo Gabba Gabba, and that's real sad. Real sad."

"Grace had an Elmo phase," Zack remembers, bumping his shoulder into his sister's empty one. "Remember that?"

"Oh, but Jules is stubborn about it. Not that she kicks and screams when I don't turn it on, because she's more subtle than that, but I swear she knows how to _pout."_

Owen's face falls a little, nodding like he's about to remember how Alicia would, sometimes, how-

"It's to be expected," Jackie speaks up, but she says it off the side, mumbled into her forkful of food, and Will glances at her wine glass and glances at Veronica's expression, and then-

"I didn't quite catch that?" he murmurs, arching an eyebrow.

Everybody is silent, and Jackie grimaces, something that might be meant to be a vindictive smile, shrugging her shoulders haughtily. "Oh, it's nothing. I was just saying that, well, had the child-

"Julia," he cuts her off, inclining his head.

He shouldn't engage, but the way she takes note of his daughter, it's disdainful, and he's not just going to sit around and-

"I beg your pardon?" Jackie says, eyes flashing.

"My daughter's name is Julia."

Jackie looks, for a moment, like she's trying to get her baring, but then goes on, as if he'd never interrupted her in the first place. Entitled, arrogant. A bitch. "I was just saying that your daughter would be better behaved if she-

"If she what?" he asks, narrowing his eyes. "If she had- If she had Alicia in her life?"

He's grasping at strings, wants to know exactly what this confounded woman is trying to insult him with, how she thinks her words can wound, and-

"At the very _least_," Jackie scoffs hatefully, looking down at her plate, and Will hears Grace gasp, watches Owen and Veronica's expressions turn to horror, watches Zack's fist clench, and-

"How dare you," he whispers, low. He's infinitely glad that he's not holding Julia, that she's not anywhere near his quaking fingers. "How dare you."

Jackie looks up, brows furrowing in mock innocence. "Excuse me?"

Peter is watching the scene with guarded eyes, a politician who knows when to step in. Knows when to let nature run its course, and now is the time of the latter.

"Mrs. Florrick," Will addresses her promptly, but there's an edge in his voice that is all business, all steel. Deadly. It makes her look up, at the very least, eyes widening. "Let me make one thing quite clear. If you ever speak of my daughter's mother or my daughter in such a condescending, disrespectful way again-

"Mr. Gardner-

"If you do, you _hag, _you better hope _I _never hear it."

"Peter," Jackie gasps, looking to her son to defend her, but-

"Mother," Peter mutters, face scrunching. "Mother, that's enough."

Jackie stands from the table dramatically, leaving the room with a venomous glare set in Will's direction, but Will only has eyes for Julia, how he'd kept his voice level as so as not to startle her. How she's still got cranberries all over her mouth, even as she's half asleep.

After a stagnant silence, Veronica goes, "So, who's ready for pie?"

At the same time Owen barks, "Will Gardner, my hero."

/

Peter catches his attention as they're getting ready to leave, and Will frowns. Cooled down from earlier, he murmurs quietly, "Peter, I'm sorry about-

"No," he hears, sharp. Peter's gaze is stern, because the truth is: Will isn't sorry, and Peter doesn't like liars. "Don't apologize for that. It needed to be said." Peter scratches his temple, and Will realizes the older man looks regretful. "Should have been said a long time ago. Are you sure you guys don't want any more left overs?"

And that, apparently, is that.

/

Mimi comes over to make Christmas cookies with Julia when New York is hit by one of the season's many snow storms, and he's home for this, makes sure to be home for the first time Julia sees snow, is able to _play _in the snow. Her green eyes are lit up at the sight, and after a half hour, her nose and cheeks are tinged red, despite the layers and layers, despite his hovering.

The batter gets everywhere, but Jules licks it off her fingers and it's worth it, the mess. The snow that came in with her, that's melting on the carpet, it all leaves him with one distinct prerogative:

Julia is worth any mess she's ever made.

/

This, however, is the bane of his existence.

Lines wrapping around and around a Christmas tree, noise loud and berating, and Julia sniffling into his shoulder, her little arms wrapped in a choke hold around his neck. They've been waiting here for two hours, all to appease Veronica and Will's mother, to give Aubrey and Sarah the 'only Christmas gift they want this year'. And now, it's here.

It's time to take the picture with Santa, and Julia is _terrified. _

It's not that she's crying, no. It's funny, how even when she was unable to walk or talk, Julia rarely, if ever, cried in public. As it is, all she'll do is whimper, grabbing ahold of whatever she can on her father's clothing to tether, to hold onto, and Will is half embarrassed that they're holding up the line further, half panicked because of Julia's panic.

"Here, Jules. Jules," he tries to catch her attention, and people are staring at him like he's crazy that he's trying to talk sense into a baby.

"Scared," Julia hiccups, the r coming out half enunciated. Her cheeks are rosy, and the guy dressed in a white beard looks like he has the patience of catholic nun, and-

"Here, hey," he tries to shush her.

"She just doesn't want to be alone with Santa," a blonde woman interrupts him from a few feet away, cocking her head. "Why don't you hop in the picture with her? You really don't look that bad."

Another mother, with twin girls at her side, makes a noise in the back of her throat like she agrees. It's something about the_ alone_ that niggles at him, takes his breath away, but then he cedes, hops in the picture and Julia relaxes, as he's tickling her belly to make her smile.

When he stands, turns in the card he'd filled out so that they can send the prints to his email, the woman who had suggested the arrangement to him is standing there, her son already on Santa's lap.

"Your wife is going to be really proud you did this all by yourself," the woman grins at him, touches his shoulder with warmth that turns frigid, _grinding _despite Julia still clinging to him, all the noise and chaos of the mall too much to bare.

"Yeah," he throws over his shoulder as he leaves. He doesn't mean to sound so bitter, but he can't help it. He's heartbroken and angry at nobody and trying to act like a normal person, a normal father, all at the same time.

"I bet she would be," Will whispers to no one but himself, holding Julia tighter to shield her from the falling snow.


End file.
